


Going Concern

by crystalusagi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Divorce, Emotional Infidelity, M/M, Secret Snarry Swap 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalusagi/pseuds/crystalusagi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired of the work they are doing, Harry, Ron, and Hermione take over a small business together, running a magical antiques shop. When his marriage begins to fall apart, Harry turns to an unlikely confidant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Concern

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avioleta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avioleta/gifts).



> Written for avioleta for the 2013 Secret Snarry Swap on snape_potter on LJ.

**YEAR ONE:**  
  
  
The shop lay toward the northern end of Covent Garden, the newer bit that was more or less completely Muggle. Angelina liked to go to a café there for lunch after Saturday Quidditch matches. There was an alley, which opened into a courtyard full of different kinds of shops and places to eat, and in the courtyard all the buildings were brightly painted, in colors that would've suited a kids' playhouse more than anything else.  
  
Harry always thought the antiques shop looked out of place. The building's brick facade was bare, and it was tucked away in the corner behind a bright pink nail salon. The window-frames were a dark, military blue. One could almost imagine it wasn't even there—Harry definitely didn't spot it the first time he'd glanced around the bright courtyard.  
  
The bold brass letters that hung over the door read only,  _ANTIQUES_  - no name or date. There was a display window, too. This, Harry noticed as he passed by the shop time and time again, never really changed. It always housed the same odd collection: an old wooden medicine cabinet full of tiny little drawers which had been stuffed with a variety of knick-knacks, from rings and wristwatches to fishing lures and a stray wine opener; an old mannequin, its fabric body faded and frayed with age, on which were stuck all kinds of pins and earrings; and, in the very center, a huge painted porcelain sink, the spacious counter stacked with multi-colored cola bottles. Some of them, he thought, must be pretty old, because they weren't all quite the same size and shape.  
  
It wasn’t a proper window display for an antiques shop by any stretch of the imagination. It was what drew Harry to it in the first place, that misplaced sort of feeling, like it was something hiding in plain sight. Something about it felt sort of familiar. Even though he never went inside, it was his favourite shop.  
  
  
///  
  
  
There was a piece of paper tacked to the door of the antiques shop, Harry noticed as he polished off the last of his turkey sandwich. He squinted, but even with the renewed charm on his glasses he couldn't make out the words.  
  
"—then  _wham!_  Crashed straight into the bugger. Can you believe it?" He flicked his eyes back to the conversation, and shook his head in response to Oliver's question even though he'd missed almost half the story.  
  
"Yeah," said Ron beside him, in a voice that Harry thought meant he was probably humouring Oliver, "unbelievable."  
  
He was still curious about the piece of paper when the lunch ended, so instead of Apparating back to Ron's place to change as he'd planned, he made his excuses and headed off in the direction of the shop.   
  
When he got there, Harry stopped in his tracks.  _NEW OWNER SOUGHT_  the paper read, in bold but rather old-fashioned handwriting,  _PLEASE INQUIRE WITHIN_.  
  
///  
  
The air in the antiques shop smelled of dust, in a way that reminded him of the Hogwarts library. It looked like a library, too. Tall wooden shelves housed various objects at the center of the room. The walls were lined with glass cabinets that went all the way up to the high ceiling; these were filled with what Harry guessed were more valuable or fragile antiques. The place was bigger than he'd thought.  
  
A man stepped out from behind a shelf and flashed Harry an easy smile. He looked to be in his late twenties. "Welcome. Looking for anything in particular?" His eyes narrowed minutely. "Hold on, where do I know you from?"  
  
Harry blinked. Then it dawned on him. The way the shop blended into the background, the weird window display, the glimmer that he could see around the cabinets and shelves if he  _looked_  hard enough. Magic.  
  
He stepped closer and held out his hand. "Harry Potter."  
  
The younger man laughed, taking Harry's hand. "Marcus Demetri. Merlin, Harry Potter! Felix'll want to see this." He quirked an eyebrow at Harry. "You mind if I go fetch him?"  
  
 _Who's Felix?_  Harry meant to ask, but Marcus Demetri had already let go of his hand and vanished behind the shelves again.  
  
He came back a few minutes later, followed closely by a lightly balding, tiny old man in a blue and gold suit. "Well I never!" the old man exclaimed in a papery voice. He reached up and clasped both Harry's hands in his; Harry took care not to squeeze back too firmly for fear of breaking him. "I never knew you were interested in antiques, Harry Potter!"  
  
  
///  
  
  
Hermione was frowning at a pot of gravy when he stepped into the kitchen. She had her hair tucked into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, and her cheeks were slightly pink from being near the stove too long. She half-turned when she noticed him.  
  
"Hi, Harry. Can you come over here and try this?" She fetched a tasting spoon out of one of the drawers and dipped it into the pot, then held it out to Harry. He stepped forward and took it from her.  
  
"What do you think? More salt?"  
  
"Yeah, maybe a bit."  
  
The salt was added, and Hermione handed him another tasting spoon.   
  
"Perfect." He grinned at her. "Even better than Molly's."  
  
She smiled a fond but disbelieving smile at him and reached to turn off the heat.  
  
Harry dropped the second spoon in the sink to join the first one. He drummed his fingers on the surface of the counter for a few moments. "Hey, Hermione? What do you know about magical antiques?"  
  
"Not a lot," she said, turning around to face him with that glint in her eye that Harry recognized instantly as Hermione in lecture-mode, "except that there's been a tradition among wizards for thousands of years of—"  
  
"This is going to sound strange," he interrupted in a polite voice, a couple of minutes into the lesson. He didn't actually mind Hermione's lectures, but they'd never get dinner started if he didn't head this one off. "I mean, I've already talked to Ron about it and he's already told me I'm mad, but what do you think about running a magical antiques shop?"  
  
  
///  
  
  
"You do realize this is crazy, right, mate?"  
  
Harry shrugged. It had been a crazy idea when he'd left the antiques shop after meeting Felix that day. It had been crazy the weekend after, when he'd gone back on his own and spent an afternoon being shown the shop's latest acquisitions by an enthusiastic Marcus. It was even crazier now that he was actually sitting with Ron and Hermione at their dining table, trying to explain why they should do this with him, despite the sheer insanity of it all.  
  
"We've done crazier things than this." Harry leaned forward. "Come on, you  _hate_  your job."  
  
"I like mine," said Hermione.  
  
"Yeah, but you worry about the hours and wanting to have kids," Ron pointed out.  
  
"And you hate the paperwork," argued Harry. "We all do. It's burning you out. When was the last time we met for lunch?"  
  
They all sat in silence for a moment, considering.  
  
"If," Hermione started. "If we were to do this, it would mean a more flexible schedule, wouldn't it? I could work on my own projects without having to worry about stepping on any ministry toes."  
  
Harry and Ron both nodded; Hermione's projects were infamous. SPEW wasn't the half of it.  
  
Harry flashed a smile at Ron, who smiled back, apparently in spite of himself.  
  
"So these magical antiques," said Ron, "they're really cool, you said?"  
  
  
///  
  
  
It was another two months before they were ready to take the leap, after what felt like endless shop visits and discussions amongst themselves. They finally went in to sign the lease on an overcast Wednesday afternoon at the lawyer's office.  
  
Harry had lain awake all night, wondering if something was going to go wrong. Eventually, at about three in the morning, he'd got out of bed and gone downstairs to not sleep on the sofa instead. It wouldn't do to wake Ginny up with his tossing and turning when she'd only managed to fall asleep a few hours before; this second pregnancy was tougher than James' had been.  
  
After Hermione had reviewed all the necessary papers in detail, they all signed the agreement of transfer of the lease title and fixed assets of the company. "It's official," the lawyer told them, after he'd marked the signed document with some sort of embossing stamp.  
  
They all made their way back to the shop, where Felix handed over the keys and showed them how to work all the security charms. By the time everything was taken care of and Felix had gone happily home to enjoy the first day of his retirement, it was past dinner time. The three of them stood in the middle of the empty shop, surrounded by Muggle and Wizarding artifacts, breathing in the enormity of what had just happened.  
  
"We're the owners," Ron was the first to say. "We  _own_  this place."  
  
Harry laughed, because it was funny to hear the excitement and dread fighting it out in Ron's voice, and because he had the best friends in all the world. His laughter set Ron off, and then Hermione joined in, and then it seemed totally natural to hug both of them. And then, once they were done and it didn't seem like anyone was in danger of getting tearful about the whole thing any more, they decided it was time for food.  
  
  
///  
  
  
They usually ate lunch together in the back room—food bought from the nearby cafés, or lunches packed by Hermione. For the first few weeks it was something of a novelty, and none of them could keep the smiles off their faces. This was different from seeing each other once a month over dinner, or catching a quick lunch in-between appointments. It had been so long since they'd spent consecutive days together, and it felt amazing.  
  
"We should divide stuff up," Harry said over pizza on the second day of business. "It'll make things run better."  
  
"I could take care of the accounting. Payroll and inventory, and reconciling the accounts," Hermione volunteered.  
  
Harry swallowed the mouthful that he'd been chewing. "We'll need someone to go out to get stuff, with Marcus." Pickers, that was what Felix had said when he'd talked about this; he'd seemed to think it'd be a good idea if the three of them got involved in the process and didn't just rely on Marcus to fix everything. Harry didn't disagree.  
  
"Yes," said Hermione, "and someone to stay in the shop and help customers."  
  
"Couldn't we all take turns?" asked Ron. "I'd get tired of traveling everywhere searching for random artifacts if I had to do it all the time, but I wouldn't want to be stuck in the shop, either."  
  
Harry nodded. "We all have so much to learn, so it would make sense to rotate."  
  
"That would work," Hermione said. "I suppose I'll have to teach you both the basics of accounting, then." She smiled a rather satisfied smile.  
  
Ron groaned. "That was a bad idea, wasn't it?"  
  
Harry finished the last bit of his pizza and patted Ron on the back. "Don't worry. We'll get the hang of it."  
  
  
///  
  
  
It took them a while to find their rhythm, especially with the improbable number of reporters coming by to cover the story of Harry Potter and his friends taking over an antiques shop. Their first few weeks were filled with curious customers who were more interested in catching a glimpse of Harry than they were in magical antiques.  
  
When the buzz finally died down and actual regular customers trickled back in, it was something of a relief, albeit a bit nerve-wracking. Even after months of studying, Harry, Ron and Hermione were not experts at this.  
  
At least they didn't have to do it all on their own. Hermione was particularly happy to discover that Marcus possessed an advanced Muggle degree in art history as well as an accreditation from the International Society of Appraisers, came from a long line of curse-breakers and had grown up around all sorts of magical artifacts. After he graduated from Hogwarts, he'd studied for three years at the Beijing Institute of Ancient Wizardry.  
  
"Frankly, I'm appalled at the pay he's getting," she told Harry and Ron over dinner one night, after Marcus had saved Harry from purchasing a fake Verillia's Virtuous Viewing Vanity from a witch in alluring red robes. Marcus got a handsome raise the next day, and from then on Hermione became his favourite.  
  
  
///  
  
  
"Is it safe?" Ginny asked warily as James toddled off on short stubby legs behind one of the shelves.  
  
Harry nodded, watching James fondly as he plunked himself onto the floor next to a bulbous vase and peered at the brightly painted porcelain. "All the hostile ones are in the cabinets, and the ones on the shelves have non-breaking charms on them. He can't get into very much trouble."  
  
Ginny cast a look around. "I haven't been here since the re-opening. It's really changed."  
  
"More people working, more things being brought in."  
  
Marcus came in from the back, waving to Ginny as he walked towards them. He reached out and grabbed Ginny's hand warmly. "Lovely Ginny!" he greeted. "Come to visit?"  
  
Ginny grinned at him. Marcus got along remarkably well with almost all women, and Ginny was no exception. "Lovely Marcus. Have you been keeping him out of trouble?"  
  
"Of course I have. Except he's always getting himself into more of it." A sidelong glance at Harry. "Harry, don't you know that you should keep your lovely wife at home for fear that someone with sense will steal her away?"  
  
Harry laughed. "They could try. Don't underestimate her. Ginny can defend herself."  
  
Ginny leaned against him, her warmth pressing into his side. "Yes, I can. I wouldn't let myself be stolen." Her smile widened. "Except by Luna. She's meeting me at that French restaurant soon. Can you lot watch James for a while?"  
  
Marcus slung an arm over Ginny's shoulder and squeezed. "Our pleasure, darling."  
  
  
///  
  
  
Teddy was wrapping up a bell in tissue paper for one of the customers. Today was his day for helping at the shop.  
  
"Can't believe he's nine already," Ron said beside him.  
  
Harry nodded. "It's pretty unbelievable. Soon he'll be ready to go to Hogwarts."  
  
"He looks like he could be my kid, doesn't he." Teddy had turned his hair red for the day, a color that almost exactly matched the shade of Ron's hair.  
  
"Hey, he's  _my_  godson, I'll have you know," Harry said with a smile.  
  
"Yeah, I know." Ron turned to him, an expression in his eyes that Harry recognized all too well. "Hey, Harry?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Hermione found out last night. We're going to be parents."  
  
Harry's mouth fell open in surprise. "What? How far along is she?"   
  
"Two months. She told me she'd been so busy she didn't notice missing two periods, can you believe it?"   
  
Harry laughed, because he really could believe it. "Do you know what this means? Our kids will be starting Hogwarts at the same time."   
  
Ron grinned at Harry and clapped him on the back, supremely pleased. "Yeah. _Gods_ , I can't wait."   
  
"Me neither," Harry said, grinning back at him.   
  
///  
  
  
Hermione's face was flushed when she came running in, and she seemed completely out of breath. "Harry! A fire call! I just," she paused to take a much-needed gasp of air, "I just got a fire call from St. Mungo's. The baby's coming!"  
  
Harry had been polishing an Egyptian urn. Hearing this, he dropped it.  
  
"Whoa!" said Marcus, reaching out to catch it just in time. "Don't want that going off in here at a moment like this." He laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. " _Breathe,_  man."  
  
Harry scrambled in his pockets for his wand. "I—I need to go now."  
  
"Yes," Marcus agreed, "Go. Both of you."  
  
Hermione took Harry's hand, already walking out the door. "You'll close the shop? I don't know if we can come back."  
  
"Don't worry. Just go."  
  
Harry nodded. "Thanks, Marcus. We owe you one!"  
  
"And Harry? Congratulations!"  
  
  
///  
  
  
Ginny looked more tired than he'd ever seen her, even after James was born. But she was still smiling, holding their second baby in her arms. Harry placed his hand over hers, looked down at the red-faced child.  
  
"He's beautiful.  _You're_  beautiful."  
  
"Yes, he is," said Ginny.  
  
"Now we just have to decide on a name for him."  
  
She gave him a significant look. "This again?" she asked. "I thought we already settled it."   
  
They  _had_  discussed it. But he'd gotten to name James, and it was only fair for Ginny to choose this time.   
  
Ginny moved her hand, so that their fingers linked. "Harry, it's fine. Really. George already got Fred, and I really can't think of anything that would be more meaningful to me than Dumbledore or Snape are to you."  
  
Harry blinked, touched by the fact that he had such a wonderful wife. "All right, then."  
  
There was a knock on the door. Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasley family filed in, all of them beaming.  
  
"Everyone," said Harry, "meet Albus Severus Potter."  
  
  
///  
  
  
"Are you sure it'll be okay?" Ginny asked again.  
  
"Yes. As long as you're sure you're ready. You've already given up work for three months."  
  
Ginny smiled at him. "I'm ready. I'll miss all the time with the boys, but it might be nice for you to spend more time with them at the shop. And Mum could take them, too."  
  
Harry nodded. "They'll be fine, James loves the shop." He studied her. Ginny had a light in her eyes that hadn't been there in the past couple of months. She was looking forward to working again, getting out there and doing things. "Don't feel like you have to stay at home to be a mother. I love Molly, but you're not her, thank god."  
  
Ginny laughed. "I bet you wished I cooked like her."  
  
He pulled her close and placed a kiss on her cheek. "You cook just fine."  
  
  
///  
  
  
There were new lessons to be learned every day.  
  
"See this?" Marcus pointed at the surface of the bronze sword. "What's the difference between this sword and this one?"  
  
Harry felt like they were in school again. He glanced over at Hermione, who was at that very moment biting her bottom lip, almost definitely trying very hard not to call out the answer. Marcus' gaze didn't even flicker in her direction; his question was aimed at Ron and Harry.  
  
"This one is newer?" Harry ventured.  
  
"No, same era."  
  
Ron leaned in close and inspected the two surfaces. He picked one up, turned it at an angle.  
  
"Careful with the blade; the spells have probably expired but you still  _don't_  want it to cut you. Not really sure what'd fall off."  
  
Ron dropped the sword; it made a loud clang on the stone table. He winced. "Sorry. Um. That one's been cleaned, hasn't it?"  
  
A triumphant smile broke on Marcus' face. "Yes. You call it a restoration, actually." He held up the bronze sword, taking care to keep his hands only on the hilt. "There're special ways of cleaning things, restoring them to their former glory, so to speak. Even Muggle antiques need to be properly restored, or they lose some of their value."  
  
"I've been meaning to ask, Marcus," Hermione said, "are you the person who restores the items in the shop? I noticed you and Ron picked up some things that need a bit of work."  
  
Marcus grinned. "Simple things, yeah. I do restorations on most of the Muggle items, or take them to a real live Muggle expert if they're too complicated. Most of the magical restorations Felix did, though we've been outsourcing them for the past few years to a guy called Marston."  
  
"Never met him," Harry commented.  
  
"He doesn't come out here much. Really strange guy, lives by himself." He chuckled, as if he'd just remembered something funny. "He's a grumpy old git, really, not much of a talker. He does brilliant work, though."  
  
"So you're taking that clock to him, then." Ron nodded to the clock that sat on one of the shelves, a pick that he had scored on a run with Marcus.  
  
"I was thinking one of you could do it. You know, since you've never met him. Might be a good idea."  
  
  
///  
  
  
Mr. E. Marston lived in the loft of a five-storey block of flats, which was sandwiched between an old bookstore on one side and a Vietnamese takeaway on the other. The building had the kind of rusted, paint-chipped stairs that wound precariously up in a spiral. They made Harry feel a bit claustrophobic. There was no lift, and Harry was glad that Marcus had warned him to put a shrinking spell on the clock before leaving the shop.   
  
The door was a somber grey, and on it was a brass knocker in the shape of a snake. The snake jumped in his hand when Harry knocked, its head sliding up to stare at him, emerald eyes glinting. It wasn't difficult to guess which house Marston had belonged to in school. Harry hadn't realized this was a Wizarding part of town, but maybe the snake only reacted to magical signatures.   
  
"Business?" the snake hissed.   
  
"I'm from the Antique Shop, dropping off for Mr. Marston."   
  
The snake hissed again, seemed to consider him for another moment, then twisted back into its original position and lay still. The door clicked open. Harry waited to see if someone would come out, but nothing happened. He took it as an invitation to step inside.  
  
The hall was unlit, so that he couldn't quite make out the color of the rug under his feet, but there was a faint glow coming from the doorway at the far end. He walked to it and peered through.   
  
The room was lit by candlelight. A dark-haired man holding what looked like a magnifying glass hunched over a large rectangular table, an array of mysterious instruments glinting around him. He looked up when Harry appeared. The candlelight shone on his face and illuminated it just enough for his features to be discernible.   
  
Harry blinked, thinking it was a trick of the light, but no—even in the low light, there was no mistaking the man. It wasn't a mistake. "Snape!"   
  
"Potter," Snape replied placidly. "To what do I owe this great honor?"   
  
"Uh." In his astonishment Harry had completely forgotten why he'd come. "Delivering the Medici clock to our restorer. I didn't—"  
  
"Hand it over, then."   
  
Harry reached into his robes for the small package and muttered the counterspell to restore it to its original size. It was a mistake to balance the thing on his left palm, because it was heavier than he remembered, and he almost dropped it when it regained its full weight.   
  
"Careful," Snape commanded sharply, glaring at Harry in a way that reminded him of the classroom as much as Marcus' lecture did. He stood up, walked quickly over to Harry, and took the clock away from him. He brought it back to the table and set it down, long fingers stroking almost reverently across the brass surface.   
  
Watching him handle the clock finally clicked everything into place for Harry. Snape was the 'grumpy old git' Marcus had warned him about, who'd been doing restoration work for Felix for years. Severus Snape, who'd gone off the radar almost a decade ago.   
  
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You've been working for me for nearly a year and I didn't even know!"   
  
"I am an independent contractor, Potter. I do not work for you."   
  
"Right, of course," Harry agreed, more because Snape was narrowing his eyes at him than because he actually knew what the difference between an independent contractor and an employee actually was. He was still paying Snape, wasn't he? "How have you been?"   
  
The half of him who remembered Snape from his school days still expected Snape to sneer and tell him it was none of his business. "Well enough, as you can see," Snape said instead.   
  
"You've been missing for nine years," Harry pointed out.   
  
"I don't owe you any explanation, Potter. But if you must know, avoiding the press and, moreover, the people who felt I still deserve punishment for my crimes, was beginning to inconvenience me."  
  
"Oh," Harry said, surprised. "I never considered. You should have said something."   
  
"To what purpose?" growled Snape. "I am quite capable of protecting myself, boy."   
  
"Of course you are," agreed Harry. That was certainly something Harry never doubted. "I didn't mean to imply—"   
  
"Will you be off now, or shall I offer you some tea?" Snape interrupted, folding his arms over his chest.   
  
There was enough sarcasm in the words for Harry to get that the tea wasn't really an option. "Am I being dismissed?" he asked before he could stop himself. Winced inwardly, waiting for a reaction.   
  
"Perceptive, aren't we. Do close the door on your way out." Like that would be a problem, thought Harry, remembering the snake at the door.   
  
He found himself lingering, though, staring at Snape, taking in the details of his face. He hadn't changed much, just a few wrinkles that Harry didn't remember him having before. He was in his forties now, wasn't he?   
  
"You know, I named my son after you."   
  
Snape looked back up at him. "Should I consider myself flattered?"   
  
Harry shrugged. "I just thought I'd tell you." He'd meant to say so many things to Snape, all those years ago, when they'd handed over the Orders of Merlin, but he hadn't quite had the courage. "Can I come by again? Or would you prefer Marcus?"  
  
"Is that his name?" Snape said, raising an eyebrow. "Do as you please, it makes no difference to me."   
  
Harry smiled. "Good. I'll uh. I'll see you next time."   
  
  
 **YEAR TWO:**  
  
"But you can't leave us!" Ron exclaimed.  
  
"He's not  _leaving_ ," Hermione protested, looking straight into Marcus' eyes for confirmation. She seemed to find what she was after, because she relaxed a little. "It's just a short holiday. A leave of absence."  
  
Marcus' smile was wry. "Not really a holiday. I'll be on my knees in the dirt digging away in the middle of nowhere most of the time. But Hermione's right, it's only temporary. Nothing to worry about."  
  
It was Harry's turn to cut in. "Hermione can do the appraisals, and we can always study ahead on the things we already have, but who's going to authenticate the things that come in, or go with us on runs?"  
  
"Well, I've thought of that," Marcus said, in a slow way that made Harry slightly apprehensive. He scrubbed at a spot on the counter, even though it seemed perfectly clean. "And you're not going to like it, but I've sort of hinted at it, put out some feelers, you know, and he's not entirely opposed to the idea—"  
  
"Hang on," Ron interrupted. "I think I know where this is going. And you're right, I  _don't_  like it."  
  
  
///  
  
  
"I mean,  _Snape_ , it's Snape." Ron had jumped off his seat and was pacing back and forth in rather exaggerated distress.  
  
"Yes, Ron," agreed Hermione, mouth quirking, "we know. But just think about it. No more taking turns going up those stairs. No more talking to that 'creepy door-snake' you hate so much. Marcus says Snape knows even more about magical antiques than he does."  
  
The pacing stopped. Ron sighed. "Yeah, I know. But why does it have to be him? Sure, he's saved our lives and Harry named his son after him, but he's still a git."  
  
"Well, it's not like we have a choice, do we?" Harry said. "We could hire one of Marcus' old classmates, but Marcus can't say if they'll be able to do the job."  
  
Marcus had gone home for the day, leaving the three of them with the decision of what to do about his absence. Harry wasn't thrilled with the idea of substituting Snape for Marcus, either, but he had to admit Snape was better than a stranger who might not fit the bill anyway.  
  
Besides, even Harry had to admit Snape wasn't nearly as difficult now as he had been when they were in school.  
  
"I think you've lost this one, love."  
  
Ron grunted in acknowledgment. "Don't deny it—you're just pleased because you want to see him restore things."  
  
"You know me well."  
  
  
///  
  
  
"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"  
  
Snape leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, one eyebrow raised just a fraction. "Only if you don't get to the point."  
  
Harry sighed. It had been the right thing to do, to take the week's restorations projects to Snape's place himself and confirm personally that he'd be coming to the shop to help them in Marcus' absence. That didn't mean it wasn't painful.  
  
"Well. Would you? Come to help us? We're kind of desperate, or we wouldn't be asking." As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry wanted to wince. "Not that we'd only ask if we were desperate."  
  
"Isn't that what you just said?" Miraculously, Snape seemed to be amused rather than offended. "Don't you find it redundant to have your employee make a request, only to repeat it yourself?"  
  
"Well, you never gave him an answer." Harry tried for a smile. "And I thought it was the polite thing to do, given the circumstances."  
  
"Our prior association," said Snape in a voice Harry remembered from classroom lectures, "does not, by any means, impose upon you the obligation of seeing me more than you must, Potter. There are no circumstances. I do not like to dwell on the past."  
  
Even Harry knew that was a lie, but he kept his mouth shut. "You would get commissions from any sale you make, just like Marcus did," he pressed on.  
  
"I require a workspace. A private one."  
  
"You could use the back room. That's where Marcus does his work when he's not in front helping customers. There's a big table." He considered. While it was away from the eyes of the general public, the back room was where they kept their more volatile items, and occasionally they had to go back there to fetch something, or show something to a customer. "I can't promise we won't go back there, but if you're worried about people watching you while you work, we could set up a screen or something."  
  
"That will do. And Potter?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I will receive a thirty percent discount on any items I see fit to purchase from your shop. Agreed?"  
  
That was over twice the shop discount Marcus was entitled to. Harry had a feeling Snape knew this. He smiled again, stepping closer to hold out his hand for a handshake. "Agreed. Welcome on board."  
  
Snape's palm was warmer than he expected.  
  
  
///  
  
  
There were, naturally, adjustments to be made. The table in the back was cleared to make room for Snape and his tools, and things had to be moved around to accommodate the screen Harry had promised him.  
  
"What about the kids?" asked Harry as Ron tried to angle the screen so that it would completely block Snape from sight.  
  
"What about them?"  
  
"They're always running about around here. No guarantee they won't bother Snape. Especially knowing who he is."  
  
Three-year-old James was a talker, and now that Harry thought about it he could just imagine James coming up to Snape and asking him something inappropriate.  
  
"Maybe he'll stay away. Snape's kind of intimidating to a little kid, remember?"  
  
Harry thought back to his first meeting with Snape. Right. "You think he'll scare them?"  
  
"Al and Rose are one. And James is James. I don't think toddlers are as easily scared as eleven-year-olds, thank god."  
  
"I suppose you're right."  
  
  
///  
  
  
"How was it?" Harry asked Ron in a small voice when he trudged back into the shop.  
  
Ron stretched wearily and grinned at Harry. "An entire day in a van with my ex-Potions professor, and he asks me how it was."  
  
Hermione looked up from the ledger she was working on. "He isn't cursing anything, so it can't have been all that bad."  
  
"Well, he did give me a lecture on effective bargaining for most of the car ride home. We got a lot of good things, though. Going to need Harry's help unloading. Wait till you see, Harry."  
  
Harry nodded, always excited to see a new haul. "Lead the way."  
  
  
///  
  
  
"The child is on the Fiberali horse again," Snape intoned as he walked past Harry on his way to the back room. Was that a touch of humor Harry detected in Snape's voice, lurking behind the disapproval? No, couldn't be.   
  
Harry leaned back against his seat and turned round just in time to see the three-year-old slip sideways off the rapidly rocking horse. James laughed as he clutched the horse's neck for dear life. Even from his seat Harry could see the long ribbon of drool trailing down from James' mouth to the gilded surface. He fought back a smile and lost.   
  
"The stirrups, James," he advised, and turned back to the books. James issued a loud whooping sound in the background, so Harry guessed he'd figured it out.   
  
An hour later and Harry was ready to give up. How did Hermione do this even once, let alone twice every month? The numbers swam before him like an ancient text, he just couldn't see how it made any difference which telescoping spectacles he'd bought first. He sighed and pushed the whole pile further back on the desk.   
  
In his peripheral vision Harry could see Snape move, perhaps putting down his magnifying glass. "Falling apart without Granger already, are we?"   
  
"Yes," Harry agreed, "yes we are." He rubbed his eyes. "Worse than arithmancy."   
  
He could tell Snape was raising his eyebrow just from the tone of his voice: "Doubtful."   
  
He didn't think Snape could see his glare from all the way across the hall, but he tried to get the challenge across anyway. "Why don't you take a look, then?"   
  
This was how Ron found them sitting side by side at the reception desk with a pile of papers between them, Snape methodically ticking off items in the ledger as Harry watched him with growing wonder.   
  
"You know James found the Lunar Ottoman all on his own, right?" Ron said as he came closer, glancing quizzically back and forth between Harry, Snape, and the books. "Is that the inventory?"   
  
Harry gazed up at him with a glint in his eye. "Snape reconciled it. Or, well, most of it." He made an ecstatic gesture at the papers. "Look!" He and Ron had been trying to complete the very difficult task of 'reconciling the accounts' Hermione had left them since she Flooed to Bath for the conference. Snape had finished it in a single afternoon.  
  
"Is there anything you don't know how to do?" asked Ron, obviously impressed.   
  
"No," Snape said, straight-faced, "I even know how to deal with idiots." It was a testament to how used to Snape they'd both become that Harry only grinned at that and Ron didn't even scowl.  
  
James came back from his exploration rubbing his eyes wearily. He had dust in his hair and a patch on his cheek was checkered with tiny little squares from lying on some kind of fabric too long. "I went to sleep and—then it was all dark," he told them, breaking his sentence with a big yawn.  
  
"Ottoman," Ron declared. "Watched Louis that one time, remember? Knocked him out for five hours straight."   
  
  
///  
  
  
Marcus was back before they knew it. One day he was just there again, sitting atop Snape's table—when had it become Snape's table?—and chatting away at Snape as if he wouldn't get his head bitten off. Surprisingly, he didn't.  
  
"He was an exemplary student," was all Snape had to say when Ron made a comment about his marked tolerance for Marcus' company, "Unlike certain others I could name." To think Snape had claimed not to even know his name.  
  
Harry found himself in the awkward predicament of actually feeling vaguely melancholy at the thought of Snape leaving. He enjoyed the unveiled barbs Snape threw their way on a day-to-day basis, and watching Snape stare in secret amusement at Albus Severus' antics was very nearly endearing.  
  
Still, he was prepared to go back to the way things were.  
  
"I want to ask Snape to stay," Hermione told Harry and Ron one evening, after they'd closed up shop and were headed to the pub for drinks. "Marcus wants to spend more time on his paper, and we both agreed that having Snape around really helps with inventory turnover. He's fixed loads of things since he's been here."  
  
She seemed to be expecting some sort of argument, but both Harry and Ron were silent. Harry was glad there would be another person there to carry the load, and having Snape around to assess the values of some of the more obscure items that came in was really helpful.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"He did the inventory for us that time you were gone. And Louis behaves around him. Don't see why not."  
  
"Can we afford it?" asked Harry.  
  
Hermione nodded. "I did some calculations, and we're actually doing a lot better than last quarter. It wouldn't be a problem."  
  
"Then it sounds great to me. The real question is whether he'll  _want_  to stay on."  
  
Hermione had a determined glint in her eye. "Oh, don't worry. I have a feeling I can persuade him."  
  
Somehow, that's exactly what she did.  
  
  
  
///  
  
  
"I was thinking of taking the kids over to Mum's tomorrow to spend the night, and maybe the next day. George and Angelina will be there, too."  
  
Harry looked up from the antiques magazine he'd been reading. "Sounds good." He hesitated. "I don't know if I can come with. It's my turn to close the shop, and there's this buyer who wants to meet on Saturday morning..."  
  
"That's okay. I think I can manage them on my own. Work is important."  
  
  
///  
  
  
"I haven't seen Ginny around very much lately," Hermione remarked in the morning.  
  
Harry gave her a slight shrug. "She's working more hours now. I think she's making up for all that lost time, with James and then Albus. You know how busy reporters are."  
  
In truth, even Harry hadn't seen much of Ginny recently. Apparently she was covering a big story—Harry couldn't remember what it had been about—and it took up most of her time. They were both busy, and while he missed her, he understood that this was Ginny's time to focus on her career. Perhaps he should have moved things around, spent the night and Saturday with Ginny and the boys.  
  
"I hope it doesn't stress her out. The Albertus case seems to have really heated up." That was it. The case against Quidditch coach Theodore Albertus, who had allegedly cursed an opposing team's Seeker before a crucial game. Ginny had told him all about it in detail; Harry should have remembered.  
  
"Maybe I should take her to lunch. Take her mind off work, you think?" He could even offer to come with her to Molly and Arthur's.  
  
"It's a thought. And you could bring us back a little something. There's a shop that sells marvelous scones by the  _Daily Prophet_  building."  
  
  
///  
  
  
Ginny's co-workers informed him that she had gone to the deli around the corner for lunch. This was where Harry found her, sitting at one of the small tables outside the deli with a man who must have been her co-worker.  
  
She was in a purple robe that made her skin glow in the mid-day sun, and her cheeks were flushed with color. Harry smiled, and was about to call out, when the man reached across the table and took her hand in his.  
  
Harry wasn't sure what he was expecting, but when Ginny smiled at him and didn't pull away, he couldn't bring himself to walk any closer, to draw more attention to himself. It felt like he was intruding on a tender moment.  
  
He turned around and walked away. He was almost halfway back to the shop before he realized that he'd forgotten Hermione's scones.  
  
  
///  
  
  
The day was busy enough. People came in and out of the shop, touching things and asking questions. When he wasn't busy distracting Muggles while Marcus showed off magical artifacts to the customers, he was manning the cash register or being prepped by Hermione on the pricing of the new items. There was no time to think about anything other than the demands of a work day.   
  
"We're having dinner with my parents tonight," said Hermione, some time around five o'clock. "Do you think you can close shop while we get ready?"   
  
"Of course," he agreed, managing a smile. "Have fun."  
  
Marcus had left an hour before. Harry was all alone for the first time since lunch, when he'd seen Ginny with that man.   
  
All of a sudden it was too much to avoid. The man's hand touching Ginny's across the table, the soft smile hanging on Ginny's lips, a thumb rubbing across her skin—all the images sprang back into his mind. They stuck there, playing over and over. Harry put his face into his hands and breathed, tried to push them out with no success.   
  
It was nothing. It was a small touch, in public, between colleagues. A gesture of affection, one that he'd given Hermione a thousand times before. It didn't have to mean anything more than friendship. Only he could remember that Ginny used to smile at him like that, before—before she'd stopped. When had it happened? When Albus was big enough to crawl? When she was promoted to news reporter?   
  
Another image came to mind, of Ginny lying in bed, turned away from him, already asleep. They used to fall asleep curled into one another, but not anymore.   
  
"The sign, Potter."   
  
Harry put his hands down and looked over to Snape, who stood with his tool bag in one hand, ready to leave for the day. He'd completely forgotten Snape had been polishing something or other in the back room. He looked at him now, completely at a loss for words.   
  
"The sign," Snape repeated. "Or have your hours changed since yesterday?" He pointed to the door, where OPEN blazed in red and blue light.   
  
Right. He got off the stool and walked quickly to the sign, checking for Muggles. Seeing no one around, he tapped at the sign with his wand and the lights went out.   
  
He stood there and took his glasses off, wiping them with the edge of his shirt so that he wouldn't have to look at the expression on Snape's face. Snape had appeared almost concerned when Harry'd first uncovered his eyes.  
  
When Harry put his glasses back on, Snape still stood there in the middle of the room, staring at him. "Thanks," Harry offered. You can go home now, he wanted to say next, assumed that that's what the 'thanks' implied anyway, but Snape wasn't moving, just considering him silently.  
  
"You don't look ill," Snape said at last, rather irritably. "So what is it?"  
  
My wife doesn't love me anymore, he wanted to say. Or maybe something else. Something about how he hadn't noticed Ginny's turned back at night, or hadn't missed those soft, sweet smiles she used to reserve for him alone. "Just tired. Too many customers today."  
  
Snape nodded, and started for the door. Then he stopped and turned to Harry. "Do you require a Pepperup potion?"  
  
"No, no thanks. I'll be fine. I just need to find some way to relax." Which shouldn't be too difficult, considering Ginny was still at her parents' with the kids. "I could use some alcohol."   
  
"I have alcohol at home," said Snape, after another beat of silence.   
  
This was. This was a surreal conversation. Harry was afraid he just didn't have the mental capacity to process it. "Do you."  
  
A nod. "I could be persuaded to share," Snape said, in a tone that only sounded a bit grudging, and that was probably just out of habit. Snape couldn't actually just be  _nice_ , after all.   
  
Harry thought about drinking alone in the bedroom he shared with Ginny, and then about the sad lack of actual alcohol in the house in the first place. Having someone to drink with, to take his mind off the day he'd had, was welcome, even if that someone was his former Potions professor.   
  
"Think I could persuade you while I lock up this place?"   
  
Snape reached out and twisted the door-handle. He stepped out onto the pavement. "Be quick about it; I've been in this cursed place enough for today."   
  
  
///  
  
  
He followed close behind Snape on the spiral staircase up to his flat. After a whole day of work, Snape smelled of metal and dust and the oils he used to clean various things.   
  
"You know," Harry said to Snape's back as they climbed, "you don't have to come in for the whole day.  
  
"So eager to be rid of me, are you, Potter?"   
  
"No, no, not at all." Harry had to admit to himself that despite needing all the help they could get, they'd walked on eggshells around Snape when he'd first agreed to come to work at the shop. Even so, he never wanted Snape to go away, and eventually Snape's presence had become as normal as Ron's.   
  
They reached Snape's door before more could be said. Snape touched the green-eyed snake and the door swung quietly open for them.  
  
"Go to the kitchen, that way," said Snape, pointing, then promptly disappearing down the dark hallway and into one of the rooms.   
  
Harry went where he was told. A dark oak table sat in the middle of the room, with counters surrounding it. There were a few appliances on the granite counter-tops, but what really caught Harry's attention were the cupboards above and below the counters, all of which had been painted—by hand, from the look of it—a bright orange. Harry sat down at the table and stared at them.  
  
He was still staring when Snape came into the room in fresh clothes, hair damp and face looking newly scrubbed. "You'll give yourself a headache if you look at them too long," he told Harry.  
  
Harry cracked a smile. "I think it's too late."   
  
Snape went to one of the cupboards and pulled out a bottle of something, along with two clear glasses. He set them all down onto the table in front of Harry. "Open it."  
  
Harry considered the light yellow liquid inside. It wasn't familiar; the bottle wasn't even in English. "What is it?"   
  
"Alcohol," said Snape testily. "Are we going to drink it, or did you just want to stare stupidly at the label and ask questions?" Harry opened the bottle and poured both of them a drink.   
  
He choked on the first swallow as the liquid burned down his throat, settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. "Merlin." It was worse than firewhiskey.   
  
"Well?"  
  
"It's pretty good," he conceded. "Really strong. But good."   
  
He watched as Snape took his first sip, with much more dignity than Harry'd managed, though he detected a slight hardening of Snape's jaw as it went down. "Hm." Snape took a larger swallow, and nodded. "Tolerable."   
  
They drank in companionable silence, Harry measuring out equal quantities into both glasses whenever they were emptied. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the flavor of the drink and tried not to think too much about what he would say or do when Ginny got home.   
  
When they'd finished more than half the bottle and Harry's vision started to blur, Snape reached over and took Harry's glass away. "I think you've had enough."   
  
"No!" Harry exclaimed, rather more loudly than he'd intended, and made grab for the glass. He missed narrowly, catching Snape's wrist instead. "I'm not done yet." He pulled Snape's wrist—and the glass—toward himself, and leaned over to take another swallow from the glass.   
  
"Idiot," Snape said, but didn't take his arm away. He should probably let go, had no reason to keep holding onto Snape when the drink was gone, but Snape's pulse beat steadily under his fingers and made him calm, was something else to focus on.   
  
Snape shook the arm Harry was still clinging to. "You're drunk, boy."   
  
"Mm," Harry hummed in agreement. He set the glass—and Snape's arm—down onto the table with a muted clink, and then put his own head down with them. He could feel his hair brush against Snape's arm.  
  
"What in heavens' name is wrong with you?"   
  
Harry felt a giggle bubble up. "You're drunk,  _boy_. Pretty much. And do you even want to know?"   
  
"Potter, don't you know I've had a vested interest in your sanity for decades now?" Snape said almost angrily, as if it inconvenienced him to have to admit he cared. It probably did.  
  
This was stupid. Harry wasn't actually going to spill his guts to Severus Snape, of all people. Snape, who only cared about him because of his mother, whose interactions with him had always been—   
  
Harry didn't finish his thought, because it was difficult to consider a man 'stiff' and 'hostile' when one had been drinking at his kitchen table for hours. "Oh god, we've gone and become  _friends_ , haven't we."   
  
"I would not go that far."   
  
Harry laughed against the table. He was in Snape's kitchen dead drunk, holding onto Snape like a security blanket, arguing about whether or not they were friends. It warranted at least a little amusement, he thought.  
  
He was supposed to go through this with Ron and Hermione. But they were busy right now, and Ginny was their sister, and he couldn't say this to them, didn't know how it would work.  
  
"My marriage is failing, and I didn't even notice." Another short laugh, this one harsher than the rest. There, he'd said it.  
  
Ron would have cursed, would have asked him what the hell he meant. Hermione would have hugged him, and then made him explain in detail. Snape just made a small sound of acknowledgment. He pulled his arm away at last, and Harry didn't have the strength to keep it.  
  
He heard Snape pick up the bottle and pour. Then Snape set it down on the table next to Harry's hand. "It appears you haven't had enough, after all."   
  
Harry lifted his head from the table and curled his fingers gratefully around the glass. "Thanks."   
  
Much later, when the entire bottle was gone, Snape set his glass down. He considered Harry for a beat.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your marriage is failing."  
  
Harry had been the one who said those words first, but it still hurt to hear them again from someone else, as though he'd been given confirmation. This was all wrong. Snape was the one who never said anything, who avoided conversation more than anyone Harry'd ever met. Why was he choosing to  _talk_  about things now? It went against all of Harry's expectations.  
  
He dropped his glass and it landed on its side, alcohol spilling over the dark wood. "I think so," he said in a small voice.  
  
"Is it over?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Snape made an impatient noise. "Stop repeating yourself like an idiot, Potter. You said your marriage is failing. But is it over?"  
  
Right. "I—I don't know." He thought about Ginny and the life they'd built together: Albus Severus and James, their house, Ginny working in the back garden, dinners with the Weasley family. It was all good, and Harry didn't want it to end. "No," he decided. "No, it's not over. It doesn't have to be."  
  
"Then there's no reason to get melodramatic about it, is there?"  
  
  
///  
  
  
He didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep, but he must have, because he opened his eyes to find himself on Snape's sofa, a blanket thrown over him. Snape was nowhere to be found; judging by the light from the window it wasn't even properly morning yet. Oh god, his head.  
  
It took a while to find his glasses, and then it was really a matter of trying his best not to be sick all over Snape's blanket. He groaned when he stood up and almost toppled off-balance.  
  
Snape's kitchen, where he would probably be able to find tea or coffee or something, was impossibly far away. Harry stared at the doorway that led to it with growing despair for a minute or two, then succumbed to his headache and lay back down on the sofa.  
  
Snape found him there several hours later. "Are you alive?"  
  
Harry opened his eyes. It was brighter than before, and the light made his eyes burn. His head was still pounding. Snape stood over him in a gray dressing gown, which was—different. He'd never seen Snape in anything other than robes, or shirt and trousers.  
  
"I could use that Pepperup potion now."  
  
He thought that was a smirk on Snape's face, but it was hard to tell with the light from the window behind outlining his figure, making everything darker than it ought to be. "I doubt it will help very much. You do not have a cold. You have a hangover."  
  
"I don't suppose you have any hangover cures ready?"  
  
The hangover cure tasted awful and left him light-headed, but its effects were immediate. It wasn't much of a surprise, considering Snape's past occupation. He was suddenly well enough that tea became a very real possibility.  
  
He sat at the table and watched as Snape carefully measured out the spoonfuls of tea leaves into the ceramic tea pot he'd produced from one of the bright orange cupboards. The room was soon filled with a faint aroma of morning tea. Harry breathed in gratefully. "What is that? It's great."  
  
"My own blend," said Snape, that self-satisfied smirk appearing again. He handed Harry a cup.  
  
Harry took a sip, and almost recoiled from the burst of flavor. "Strong."  
  
Snape reached out a hand as if to take the cup back, and Harry turned to avoid him. "No, I like it. It was just unexpected." He took another sip. "Hm. Is that—is that orange?" He could feel a grin developing on his face already, even as he tried his best not to glance back at the cupboards.  
  
"Yes, it is. And for your information, they had already been painted that color when I bought the place. I saw no reason to change them."  
  
Harry shook his head, grinning fully now, "No reason at all."  
  
"You need not come back if they offend you."  
  
Harry drank more of his tea. "Are you inviting me back?"  
  
A pause. Had he managed to trip Snape up at last?  
  
"It is not my job to rid you of any presumptions you see fit to have, Potter."  
  
Harry laughed, pleased and inexplicably relieved that he hadn't pushed too far. "Thank you, Snape."  
  
"Whatever for?"  
  
Harry considered saying what he actually thought, telling Snape all the things for which he had to thank him, but it wasn't the right time. "This amazing tea, of course. Could I persuade you to make a batch for the shop?"  
  
"Pay for my ingredients and you can have as many batches as you'd like."  
  
  
///  
  
  
Ginny came back in the evening with sleepy children in tow. Harry waited for them on the little bench by the front door and helped her carry Albus Severus upstairs to his bedroom. It wasn't long before both kids were asleep in their beds.  
  
"All that running around knocked them out cold," Ginny commented happily from the doorway as Harry flicked on the night-light in James' room.  
  
He smiled back at her and went to take her into his arms. She fit comfortably there, leaning her head against his shoulder, and some of the tension drained out of him. They would be all right. They weren't over yet. "I've missed you," he told her.  
  
She held his hand and rubbed circles on the back of it with her thumb. "You too. Next time, come with us? It was lonely without you."  
  
"Mm," Harry agreed, and led her back to their bedroom. "Show you how much I missed you?"  
  
Ginny laughed, surprised. "All right."  
  
  
///  
  
  
Snape was trying to get at something inside the music box he had in his hands. Harry waited until Snape succeeded—or at least until he thought he'd succeeded—and sat down next to him.   
  
"You were right," he told Snape, "it isn't over."   
  
Snape paused, glanced up at Harry with bored eyes. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Ginny and I," Harry clarified, lowering his voice so Ron wouldn't hear out front.   
  
Snape grunted. "Congratulations to you. Though I don't recall ever having expressed an opinion on the topic."   
  
Harry smiled. "No, I guess you didn't. Still. Thank you."   
  
"If you're going to sit here babbling at me, you might as well pass me that hook over there."   
  
  
  
  
 **YEAR THREE**  
  
Ginny had just taken a shower, and she was slowly working through her wet hair with a comb. Harry lay on the bed and watched her.  
  
"I was thinking," he ventured when she was done, "that we could take the kids to the park on Saturday. It's been a while since we've gone; Al can practice running in the grass."  
  
Ginny turned to face him. "What about work?"  
  
"Hermione's doing inventory that day, so she'll be in the back, and I've already asked Marcus to come in—he's taking Monday off instead. And if it gets really busy there's always Snape."  
  
Ginny smiled. It lit up her face and made something in Harry's chest ache just a little. "You've thought of everything, haven't you? It's a lovely plan. I was going to take them to Bill's but that can wait until Sunday."  
  
Harry returned her smile. He reached over and took her hand, squeezed it warmly. "Good. I can't wait."  
  
///  
  
The sun shone warmly on Harry's face, and there was just enough of a breeze to lift his fringe out of his eyes. A few meters away, James and Albus rolled around on the green grass. James was babbling something to Albus, explaining something about grass and wrestling, but Albus was too intent on watching a passing butterfly to pay much attention.  
  
"This is nice," said Ginny. She sat beside him on the bench in her blue sun-dress, the one that made her hair look even more radiant than it usually did.  
  
"It is," Harry agreed. He was lucky to have such a beautiful wife.  
  
She yawned and reached up to stretch her arms. "The perfect outing to have before my trip."  
  
"Trip? Are you going somewhere?"  
  
Ginny glanced at him, then her eyes widened as if she'd just remembered something. "Oh. I haven't told you. I told everyone at Mum's and I guess I just forgot. They're having me cover the Quidditch World Cup. It's in a week."  
  
"Yes," said Harry, "I know when the Quidditch World Cup is. I just…" It was a two-month event and required Ginny to travel all over the world.   
  
Her face was falling, Harry realized. "You don't want me to go. Of course. I know with the boys, and—"  
  
"No," Harry interrupted, "Go. It's a great opportunity, biggest assignment you've ever had. Of course I want you to go." He just didn't want her to go  _right now_ , when he'd just started to feel normal again. But that was his problem, it was just him being stupid. He turned to hug her. "Just wish I'd been the first one you told. I'm so proud of you."  
  
He could feel Ginny smiling as she hugged back. "Thanks, Harry. You're the best."  
  
  
///  
  
The next week sped by. Ginny wrote out long lists of things she or Harry mustn't forget, lullabies and favorite snacks and instructions for what to do when James wouldn't take his nap; it didn't matter that Harry knew all these things, it just made it easier for her to leave them for so long. There were Portkey registrations to fill out. They both agreed it would be easier to write than to coordinate something on the Floo network.   
  
Ginny cried the night before she left, distraught that she'd be leaving the kids for so long. Harry held her and reassured that everything would be all right, all the while ignoring the dull aching in his chest that reminded him it might not be.  
  
"It's just… I'll miss them so much." Ginny rubbed her face against his shirt.  
  
"And me?" he took the chance to ask, knowing that they couldn't see one another's faces now. No way to tell what Ginny's reaction to that question was.  
  
Still, there was a small beat, he thought, before her answer came. But it was probably just his imagination. "Of course I'll miss you."  
  
He squeezed her, breathing in the scent of her hair. "I'll miss you, too."  
  
///  
  
It wasn't what he expected. He  _had_  expected to miss her, expected it to hurt just a little. Since they'd had James, they hadn't been apart for more than a few days, so it should have been harder to do without Ginny. It  _was_ , in some ways. Getting both James and Albus dressed and ready for the day at the same time was a monumental task when he had to do it alone, and the bed felt emptier without another body lying beside him.  
  
It took him five days, and then he was used to those things, too.  
  
 _It's just nice to be alone for a while,_  he decided. It didn't mean he didn't miss his wife. Besides, she'd only been gone for a few days.  
  
On the Friday after Ginny's departure, they received an owl from her in which she recounted the many frustrations of international travel and asked after the kids.  _I can't write much,_  she explained towards the end of the letter; there was just too much to do.   
  
He tried not to be disappointed. He was being ridiculous. It had been months since his little crisis over their marriage and he had shown himself that it was unwarranted. They weren't newlyweds anymore; they didn't  _need_  to want to be together every second of every day.  
  
All he needed to do was trust in the both of them.  
  
  
///  
  
Snape looked up and narrowed his eyes at Harry. "What is it."  
  
All of a sudden, Harry felt shy. It shouldn't have been so difficult to approach Snape after he'd spilled his guts to him, but that was months ago and they hadn't talked since, and Snape hadn't been any easier to read than he'd been before the incident.  
  
He cleared his throat. "Molly has the kids tonight, so Ron and I wanted to go for a drink."  
  
Snape's left eyebrow rose, slowly. "Are you asking for my permission?"  
  
"No." Any frustration that he felt quickly gave way to amusement. "Prat. I was going to ask if you'll come."  
  
Snape ignored his half-hearted insult. "This is a misguided attempt to repay me for drinking all my alcohol?"  
  
"Yeah, yes it is," Harry agreed. He had to stop himself from shuffling his feet like a nervous schoolboy, pretended to stamp at a spot on the floor instead. "You in? Buy you as many drinks as you like."  
  
"What does Weasley think of this, your inviting the hated former Potions professor to the bar?"  
  
"Do you care?" This made him smile; it was obvious from the tone of Snape's voice that he wasn't really asking.  
  
"No." To his surprise, Snape stood up, gathering his coat in his arms.   
  
"Very well," Snape said, "lead the way."  
  
///  
  
The bar was full, so the four of them found an empty booth in a dark corner of the establishment. Harry slid into the seat first, and almost smiled when Snape chose the seat across from him. A waitress stopped at their table and introduced herself as Denise. Ron had been getting more familiar with Muggle drinks through his association with Marcus and his college buddies, and he put his knowledge to good use by ordering them their first round of rum and Cokes.  
  
"Your ability to memorize the names of Muggle alcohol is certainly impressive," Snape commented, sarcastic.  
  
Ron made a rude gesture at him just as the waitress came back with their drinks. Harry reached over him to hand her a tip and sipped happily at his drink. He did a double take, took another sip.  
  
"Wow. Think I should've given her a bigger tip."  
  
Across from him, Marcus raised his eyebrows in question.  
  
"There's a lot more rum than Coke in this drink."  
  
Marcus grinned at him. "She must like you. Mine tastes normal."  
  
"So does mine," said Ron. He cast a mock-angry look behind his shoulder. "Doesn't she know you're taken? The ring is right there."  
  
Ron's words made Harry think of Ginny, who'd been gone for almost a month. Whose absence he had accepted so quickly.  
  
"Oh, hey," Ron continued. He must have seen the shift in Harry's mood, because he looked a little sheepish. "I didn't mean to mention Ginny. Not with you probably missing her like mad."  
  
Right. Harry felt a prickle of guilt. "Yeah. I mean. It's fine." He managed a smile that he hoped conveyed fortitude. "Only a month left until she's home again."  
  
Ron clapped him on the shoulder, smiling broadly. "Don't worry, Harry. We'll help you forget. Here comes Denise again. Hermione said we should try something called a Hello Kitty."  
  
///  
  
"Are you sure you'll be okay, Harry?" Hermione asked, leaning in to look him in the eyes.  
  
Harry smiled fondly at her and nodded to Ron. "Got enough on your plate without me to worry about."  
  
She had her arm wrapped around Ron, having already surreptitiously cast a levitation spell to help her keep him up. He was mumbling something softly into her ear even as she talked to Harry. She conceded Harry's point with a swift nod of her head. "Hello Kitties were definitely a mistake." She glanced over at Snape, who still appeared to be completely sober. "Can I leave him with you, Severus?"  
  
"If you must."  
  
That decided it. Hermione flashed him a grateful smile. "Thank you. I'll see you both tomorrow." She was gone before Harry had time to protest his ability to take himself home.  
  
He looked across the table at Snape. "I'm perfectly fine on my own, you know."  
  
A disdainful snarl from Snape. "Of course you are." He brushed something off the fabric of his trousers. "It's time to go."  
  
"How come Hermione calls you Severus?" Harry asked, because he was really curious about this and wasn't sure he would remember to ask later.  
  
"You may already know this, Potter, but that is my name."  
  
Harry couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled out of him; Snape was just so funny, even when he was trying to be surly. Or maybe  _because_  he was trying to be surly. "You can go if you want. I'm staying."  
  
Snape stood and scowled down at him. It might have been intimidating if Snape didn't scowl all the time. He was used to seeing this particular scowl, irritable and demanding, "I was not giving you a choice, boy. Get up."  
  
Harry got up and followed him out. Denise the waitress waved goodbye to him, and he must have waved back because her smile widened and she leaned forward just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her cleavage. When was the last time he'd had sex?  
  
"We could go to your place instead." He laughed again, then, at how much his words sounded like a proposition.  
  
Snape grabbed him by the arm and steered him down the street in the direction of the shop. His grip was firm; in the cold night air Harry imagined he could feel the warmth of Snape's hand on his arm.  
  
"Why the sudden aversion to going home?"  
  
"No one's there right now," Harry answered.  
  
"Ah, yes. You're 'missing her like mad,'" Snape said, borrowing Ron's words from earlier in the night.  
  
It was just them on the street, their footsteps and their voices the only sound for miles, it seemed. It was too quiet for the kind of admission Harry was trying to make; he spoke softly, afraid that his voice might carry in the still air, that someone besides Snape might hear. "I'm not. That's the thing. I haven't really missed her since she left."  
  
Snape didn't reply, so that Harry thought maybe he'd spoken too softly, and Snape hadn't heard him after all. He felt a stab of panic. He wasn't sure he could repeat himself, if Snape hadn't heard.  
  
"Say something."  
  
"I refuse to stay in the kitchen all night with you again."  
  
Something inside Harry deflated.  _What were you expecting from him, anyway? It's_ Snape.  
  
"You could come home with me," he tried again, without really knowing why. There was no reason for Snape to come over, especially since neither of them needed any more alcohol in his system. Snape wasn't Ron or Hermione, wasn't someone Harry could just hang out with, spend a calm evening at home with.  
  
"I'm not in the habit of bedding married men."  
  
Harry turned to look at Snape, who seemed to be busy staring at something beyond them. He realized how his words must have sounded. Two propositions in one night, it must have been some kind of record. Somehow, it just wasn't as funny the second time. "It's not like that. I didn't  _mean_ —" He trailed off, not sure what he was actually going to say.  
  
"Of course not," Snape interrupted before he could continue.  
  
Harry's cheeks were inexplicably warm. They were getting nearer and nearer to the shop. "You'll come, though?"  
  
Snape didn't say anything for a while. He was scowling again. Was he angry? Why? It was so difficult to tell in the dark.  
  
"Snape?"  
  
"Fine," Snape bit out. "Come, we can duck into that alley and Apparate there."  
  
Harry realized Snape was still holding onto his arm.  _I'm not a child that needs to be led,_  he could have said, should have said, but the contact was good, so Harry just followed him.  
  
///  
  
He didn't even bother locking the door behind them before throwing himself onto the chaise. Now that they were in his living room, he felt light-headed and his legs shook.   
  
Snape took a seat in the armchair across from him. "The proper protocol here, Potter, is to offer your guest a cup of tea."  
  
"We just have really rubbish Earl Grey." He sat up and turned onto his side, squinting at Snape. "You really came."  
  
"You asked me to."  
  
"Yeah, I know. I wanted you to." Harry really didn't know at all. He didn't know what he was saying. "When I'm feeling like this, you—you never say what I want to hear."  
  
"What is it you want to hear?"  
  
Harry let go of the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "That it's normal not to miss your wife when she's been gone for weeks. That all I need to do is believe it'll work." His chest was tight. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.   
  
"Then certainly I will not say it," Snape said, a touch of scorn in his voice. "What makes you think I'm qualified to comment on what is 'normal' in a marriage, Potter?"   
  
Harry giggled. Right, Snape had never been married. As far as Harry knew, the only woman he'd ever loved was his mother, and that certainly didn't end in matrimonial bliss. It was ridiculous to talk to Snape about this, he knew. He couldn't quite stop giggling.   
  
"Potter."   
  
"Hm?" He opened his eyes, wiped away a stray tear. Snape was nearer now, standing over him and staring down with an expression Harry couldn't quite understand. If he reached up he could pull Snape closer—  
  
He found himself clutching Snape's wrist before he knew how it happened. Snape's pulse thrummed beneath his fingers; was it only his imagination that it beat a little too fast?   
  
Snape pulled away before he could tell. "What is this habit you have of holding onto people?" he growled. "Get up and get sober. Make some of that rubbish Earl Grey if you must."  
  
"If I make you tea, can I call you Severus?"   
  
"Has anyone ever been able to stop you from doing anything you wanted to do?"   
  
Harry smiled sadly. "I wanted to—I wanted to take that waitress home, earlier. Or actually take  _you_  home." He laughed, imagining how strange it would be to be with someone else, when he'd only ever been with Ginny.   
  
"Anyone will do, is that right?" Snape bit out. His eyes were dark as he leaned over, closer and closer until their lips were mere centimeters apart and it was hard for Harry to breathe. Snape's arms surrounded him, though they didn't touch.  
  
Why had Harry said that? Now Snape was so angry. He should have just made the damn tea. "Sorry. I don't know what I… I'm just drunk." He shifted, thinking Snape might ease off if he moved, but Snape remained where he was, claustrophobically close.  
  
"Shall I oblige?" Snape continued in a dangerous voice. "Fuck you? So there can, at last, be an excuse for your marriage to be over?"   
  
"You wouldn't. That'd be breaking the rules."  _I'm not in the habit of bedding married men._  Even so, Snape's low voice saying those words made Harry shiver; he couldn't tell whether it was from fear, or despair, or even excitement.   
  
The expression on Snape's face as he pulled back, though, was clearly one of disgust. "You are correct, Potter. I wouldn't."   
  
Harry reached up to seize Snape's arm again, to keep him from leaving, but it was too late. His front door had already slammed shut, and a loud crack of Apparition followed immediately after.   
  
///  
  
Harry woke up on the chaise. There was sun shining in his eyes, and he winced, covered his face with hands that still smelled of alcohol. His entire body probably reeked of the stuff.   
  
It was the least of his worries. He groaned when he remembered the night before and realized that in a few short hours he would have to face Snape. Then he looked at the clock on the wall. Okay, less than a few short hours.   
  
In the shower he closed his eyes and let the water rush over him, washing away any evidence that he had been drunk enough to make a pass at Snape, if that was really what it had been.  _It was only a joke. A drunken one, even._  He'd been lonely, confused, and maybe a little horny. And it had only been a joke.   
  
It didn't explain why he'd felt like the ground was falling under him when Snape pulled away and ran out the door, or why Snape had run in the first place. These mysteries were, however, for another time. Right now Harry had to get ready for work.   
  
///  
  
"Tell me Snape hasn't come yet." Ron was already at the counter when Harry arrived, and seeing him reminded Harry that the morning had been planned out for them. He was supposed to go with Snape to pick up some items for sale.   
  
Ron gave him a clear look of sympathy. "He's been here for two hours. According to Marcus, anyway." He made a face. "I only got here twenty minutes ago, to tell you the truth. He's really grumpy today. Said something about owners, and responsibility, and professionalism."   
  
Snape always expected to leave at seven o'clock on the dot when going out on an acquisition run, since the nearest Wizarding flea market opened at eight. Harry and Ron had argued the early start, but they'd had to admit that they came back with much better stuff when they left when Snape wanted them to leave.   
  
Harry took a deep breath to brace himself. Snape had to be angry. Not just about his tardiness, but about what he'd done last night. He really didn't look forward to facing Snape right now, but it wasn't as if he had a good excuse not to. Other than,  _'I came on to him last night and now I'm too embarrassed to speak to him.'_  Somehow he didn't think either Ron and Hermione would be very understanding.   
  
Snape sat at the large table, a proper thundercloud hovering over him—though that may have just been Harry's imagination. Marcus was off to the side, his back towards the room, clearly giving Snape his space. Snape very deliberately kept on swabbing the porcelain horse figurine in front of him and didn't look at Harry.   
  
He walked to the table and stood in front of Snape, resting his hands on the surface. "Sorry," he said.  
  
"Whatever for, Potter?" Snape's eyes snapped up, challenging.  
  
Harry blinked, not really sure what to say. He should apologize for last night, shouldn't he? He glanced at Marcus, whose back was still turned away, then back at Snape, wide-eyed. "For being late. Sorry."  
  
Snape looked away, back to the horse. He glared at it as if it were the one misbehaving. "I've already contacted Helmstead to reschedule. We are taking him to lunch. You are paying."  
  
Harry winced inwardly. Right. They'd had a  _special_  appointment with a Mr. Helmstead at eight o'clock this morning to procure a rare 16th century Dict-o-Quill, and Harry had completely forgotten about it. Snape had even more reason to be angry.  
  
"I'll pay," he agreed. "Should we leave now? We could still make it before the market closes."  
  
Now Snape did direct his glare Harry's way. "To purchase what?" he snarled. "Ten Sickles' worth of second-hand goblets? I'll pass, thank you."  
  
Harry sighed and pushed away from the table. "Fine, be difficult." He still had a headache that the Pepperup potion he took earlier hadn't managed to dent.  
  
"I think I shall," Snape replied testily.  
  
///  
  
Mr. Helmstead lived only four streets away, as it turned out, so they made the journey on foot. Snape walked much too quickly; Harry thought that it probably annoyed Snape that Harry followed along without any trouble, matching him step for step.  
  
Snape didn't speak to him for the entire first half of their walk. It gave Harry far too much time to think on his own about what he'd said to Snape the night before.  
  
"Where should we eat?" Harry asked, to break the silence.  
  
"Surely you are capable of making such a simple selection without my help, Potter."  
  
Harry closed his eyes briefly, fighting for control.  _This is no different from every other day_ , he tried to tell himself. This shouldn't bother him. Snape always said things like this, he was never  _not_  a disobliging prick.  
  
 _Shall I oblige?_  Snape's voice in his mind, low and angry and just a little suggestive. Harry's steps faltered, so that he had to run to catch up with Snape again. He shook his head to clear it. He wasn't going to think about that now, especially not with Snape walking right beside him.  
  
///  
  
Lunch turned out to be Italian, a small restaurant around the corner of Augustus Helmstead's building; Helmstead had made the suggestion, so Harry didn't even have to decide.   
  
Harry made polite conversation with Mr. Helmstead and Snape examined the Dict-o-Quill while they waited for their orders to be filled. Apparently, Helmstead had happened upon the quill while cleaning out the attic of his late grandfather, who had been a reporter for the  _Wizarding Herald_ , before the newspaper company merged with the  _Daily Prophet_.   
  
"I believe it was a gift from his editor," Helmstead told them as Snape scrutinized the markings etched into the gold. "I don't write much, and no one in my family has any interest, so that's why I'm selling it. I was hoping to get two-hundred Galleons."   
  
Harry glanced quickly at Snape, who set the quill down onto the table in front of them just as a waiter came by with some bread and butter.   
  
"The engraving brings down the value of the piece. Eustace, was that your grandfather's name?"  
  
"Yes, it was. How much...?"   
  
"Fifty Galleons."   
  
The man frowned. "That's much too low! Is there any way you can go a little higher?" He looked back at Harry, who had already been told by Snape to stay out of the bargaining for this one.   
  
"I have to defer to Mr. Snape's expertise on the matter," Harry told him, a bit apologetically.   
  
"No one will want to pay top price for a quill engraved with another man's name," Snape responded. "I already consider the purchase a risky one. Fifty Galleons is the best we can do."   
  
Helmstead took a small breath, as if getting ready to argue, but the finality in Snape's tone must have made him reconsider, because he sighed instead, and offered his hand to shake. "It'll just continue to sit in the attic if I don't sell it now, anyway."   
  
Snape flicked his eyes toward Harry. "Mr. Potter's hand is the one you must shake. He dispenses the money." Harry smiled and held out his hand, and they shook on it.   
  
Their food arrived shortly in steaming platefuls. Harry dug in, hungry from a missed breakfast. It was delicious. He made a note to come here again. Maybe he would take Ron and Hermione. And Ginny, of course.   
  
The other two men must have been hungry as well, because all three of them devoured their food in record time. After that, it was a matter of writing Helmstead a note for the agreed-upon amount. They enjoyed a few more minutes of conversation—Helmstead commending Harry for his heroic actions in the war and Harry trying his best to steer the topic away from it—and then Helmstead took his leave, claiming he had to finish a project at home.   
  
Harry was left alone with Snape.   
  
He looked across the table at Snape, who was finishing the last of the coffee he had ordered. Cup empty, Snape raised an arm to hail at one of the waiters for the check.   
  
"Hold on a second," Harry said, willing his voice to remain steady. "I wanted to say something."   
  
Snape's arm went down. An eyebrow rose slowly in question.   
  
"I'm sorry. About last night." It was hard to look at Snape directly right now, so Harry focused on the cup in front of him. "I spent most of the night thinking about it, and all day today—"   
  
"How very difficult for you," Snape interjected bitterly.   
  
Harry glared back at him. "Just let me finish, okay?" It was difficult enough without Snape making angry remarks. "I thought about it, about what I said. And I understand why you were so pissed off. But I wanted you to know that I—" This was harder than he thought. He gulped in another breath, made himself say it. "I wasn't looking for an excuse to end it. It really wasn't like that. I need you to understand."   
  
He looked up at Snape, whose face was emotionless, no clues as to what he was actually feeling. At least he didn't look disgusted, the way he had last night; Harry didn't think he could ever forget that look.   
  
"You expect me to believe that you were entertaining thoughts of—" Snape cut himself off. It wasn't as if Harry didn't know what was at the end of that sentence. "Why? Because you  _felt_  like it?"   
  
Harry recalled the warmth of Snape's pulse, the low timbre of his voice when he asked Harry whether he should fuck him. He felt the heat in his face. His hands had gone slightly cold and clammy. He fought the urge to bury his face into his hands to cool it down. He made swirly shapes with his finger on the table cloth instead. "Yeah," he said, soft. "I said it because that's how I felt."   
  
"You're an idiot."   
  
Harry chuckled. "Yeah." He paused, considering how offensive that just sounded. "Not because—not because I wanted  _you_ , just because—"   
  
"Do us both a favor and stop talking," Snape advised before Harry could shove his foot deeper into his mouth. He was still glaring rather fiercely at Harry. He made a sharp gesture to someone behind Harry and, when the waiter came running, asked that the check be handed to Harry.   
  
Harry paid for their meal in silence, then followed Snape out the door and down the street, to begin their walk back to the antiques shop.   
  
"I don't know what I should do," Harry said, after a while.   
  
"Do whatever the hell you want."   
  
"I don't know what I want." That was the crux of the problem. Everything was just so confusing without Ginny's presence to hang onto, to ground him. When he saw her, he could prove to himself he wanted her, because who wouldn't want someone so beautiful, so wonderful? But she wasn't here right now.   
  
"Find out."   
  
"And if I want you?"   
  
Why had he asked that? He held his breath, guilt or lack of air making his chest ache.  
  
"Don't ask inane questions." Snape kept his eyes ahead of them and quickened his pace. The buildings had begun to change colors; they were nearly back at the shop.   
  
///  
  
"They grow up fast, don't they?" Arthur smiled fondly as he watched James and Albus play on the floor. James held a Muggle doll in his arms. He was giving Albus a lecture of some sort on the way one played with Muggle dolls and how they were different from Wizarding ones. Harry wasn't sure how much of James' babble the eighteen-month-old understood, but Albus listened with wide-eyed delight anyway.   
  
"They really do," Harry agreed. "Thank you for watching them today. And for dinner."  
  
"Oh, not a problem, dear," said Molly, beaming. "We're family, remember? You're welcome for dinner any time."  
  
Harry smiled back at her, and wondered if she would still love him if they were no longer in-laws. Would he still be family then?  
  
///  
  
They were home and had just finished taking their showers when another one of Ginny's letters came. The owl who carried it perched on one of the kitchen chairs and ruffled his feathers, looking harassed. James ran to get him a treat from the owl jar, which he only picked at.   
  
As most of Ginny's letter was directed at James and Albus, Harry sat with them by the fireplace and read it aloud to them. He held Albus in his arms as James leaned heavily against him. "Dear boys, hope you're behaving and not giving your dad, Aunt Hermione, or Uncle Ron a difficult time. Today I saw an oriental dragon who could change the color of her scales like a chameleon. I've sent a picture so you can see her changing from brown to green, see how pretty that is?  
  
"It's very hard to be away from you. I miss you guys. Help me take care of your dad, and make sure to let him get his rest, okay? Love you, Mum."   
  
 _P.S.,_  she wrote at the very bottom,  _How are you doing, Harry?_  
  
"Shall we answer it now?" asked Harry.   
  
"Yes!" James and Albus agreed in tandem. "Tell her," James started, eyes dancing, "about the  _doll_  I got today. She's a Muggle doll, and she can't move on her own, and…"  
  
Harry transcribed James' story about the porcelain doll faithfully; it took a while to write it all down, and he had to have James repeat some of it because he was talking too fast. By the time James was done, Albus had fallen asleep in Harry's lap and Harry's hand was rather cramped.   
  
He wrote his own message to Ginny underneath James' story and Albus' "Hello mummy!"   
  
 _Went to the pub last night, and didn't get back until late,_  he began.   
  
He felt a stab of guilt, remembering how he'd lain on the chaise right here in this room, holding onto Snape's arm and getting aroused at the thought of Snape—  
  
 _How are you getting on over there?_  He wanted to say that he was getting on horribly here, that he was doing terribly without her.  _We miss you, but I'm managing. So don't worry about us._  He hesitated before writing the last sentence.   
  
 _Come back as soon as you can, all right?_  
  
It would all be different if she were here, he was sure of it. Perhaps he did miss her, after all, and this unsettled feeling was the result. Yes, that was it. She only had to come back, and everything would sort itself out.   
  
///  
  
  
After the owl took off with their reply letter, Harry herded the kids into the bed. The obligatory bedtime story was told, hugs and kisses were exchanged, and then he was off to his own room to prepare for sleep.  
  
Only sleep refused to come. Instead, his mind replayed the day's events for him: Snape, telling him to do whatever he wanted—  _What if I want you?_ ; Molly and Arthur insisting that they were a family; Ginny's letter, asking how he was doing; James and Albus telling him they loved him. Over and over, in a loop, until he was dizzy.  
  
 _I just have to ignore this,_  he told himself. It was only a small impulse, a reaction to his loneliness without Ginny. It was nothing. He just had to decide to ignore it and wait for Ginny to come back. It would be okay, as long as he was vigilant and didn't get drunk in front of Snape ever again.  
  
He could do that, surely.  
  
///  
  
The next morning he arrived to the shop on time. Snape was at his table, as usual. Harry walked over to him with a steaming cup of tea and set it down. "Yesterday..." How did he start this?  
  
Snape considered him, and then he reached out to grab the cup. "Forget it."  
  
"...thanks, Snape."  
  
"Don't mention it."  
  
///  
  
Harry had been afraid Snape would act differently towards him, but days passed and Snape was still just as grumpy and disagreeable as he'd always been, and Harry was reassured. He took care not to talk to Snape about anything unrelated to work when they were alone.  
  
Before he knew it, the World Cup was over and Ginny was coming home.  
  
///  
  
"Hey, Snape?" Ron hollered, sticking his head behind the curtain that separated the front of the shop from the back room. "D'you think you can stay up here with Marcus just in case it gets busy tonight? Ginny's coming back so we're leaving early for dinner."   
  
Harry tried not to wince, even though there really wasn't any reason for this to be a sensitive topic for Snape. As far as he knew, Snape would be relieved that Ginny was back in Harry's life.   
  
  
"Congratulations, Potter," Snape told him much later as he settled into the chair by the front register with some tools and a metal canary in hand.   
  
Harry halted for second in the middle of putting on his coat. "Thanks," he replied without turning. He avoided the curious look Hermione threw his way and followed Ron out into the brisk evening air.   
  
///  
  
They went together to pick up the kids, and by the time they got back to Ron and Hermione's place it was already half past five. Ginny was due home by Portkey at seven.   
  
"Right," muttered Ron as they took of their shoes, "it's definitely too early to be wearing coats again. I'm sweating like a pig."  
  
"Yes," agreed Hermione. "Which is why I think I'll take the children to wash up, now." She patted Ron fondly on the shoulder before rushing up the stairs.   
  
Ron grinned after her. "She's so good with all three of them. Never grumpy like Mum used to get with all of us underfoot at once. You think we'll be ready for another one, soon?"   
  
Harry laughed. "Bit of a difference between three and seven. And you'd better ask  _her_ , mate."   
  
He spent the next half hour cutting things into bite-sized pieces and fetching dishes, spoons, and measuring equipment for Ron. It never failed to impress him how equally efficient both Ron and Hermione were in the kitchen.   
  
"Good cooking skills must run in the family," he commented when Ron brought a magnificent roast, gleaming and steaming, out of the oven.   
  
Ron grinned. "Ginny didn't tell you about Mum's secret kitchen charms?"   
  
"Guess not."   
  
"Well, they  _are_  very secret."   
  
"Of course."   
  
Ron leaned in. "Look behind the stove, next time," he whispered, then winked.   
  
They turned when they heard the commotion out in the living room, where James, Albus and Rose were all shouting something about  _wounds!_  and  _taken!_    
  
They ran out there as fast as they could, only to find Hermione and the kids huddled around the coffee table watching a chess board. The white knight from Ron's chess set—a very familiar figure—was trotting round and round the board on his horse in obvious triumph. Rose had her arms up in the air in an obvious gesture of triumph, while James' face struggled between a pout and a grin.   
  
"You're starting them early, aren't you?" commented Ron, clearly impressed.  
  
Hermione patted Rose and James both on the head. "Well, they're very clever children. Although I admit Rose's victory was mostly luck."   
  
She was about to say more, but the doorbell rang. James and Albus jumped up at the sound, and rushed to the door. Harry heard it open as he rounded the corner. "MUM!" came the shouts.   
  
Harry approached at a slower pace along with Ron and Hermione. He was met with the sight of Ginny kneeling on the ground, her arms around the two children, eyes closed as she returned their enthusiastic hugs. "I've missed you too, my darlings." She glanced up as Harry walked closer, and smiled warmly at him. "Hello, Harry."   
  
///  
  
Ginny sighed as she pulled the covers over bare legs and sank back into the bed. "It's good to be back. Nothing feels as good as my own bed."   
  
It did feel good. It felt comfortable to have Ginny in the bed next to him, in the way that made him think maybe he  _had_ missed her, after all, without realizing it. "I'm glad you're back," Harry said, reaching over to rub the back of her hand. "It's been lonely without you here."   
  
She smiled at him, but didn't say anything. She looked tired; tonight was probably the first night in a while that she could relax. That was all right. He could just—   
  
Ginny's hand turned to link with his, and suddenly she was drawing closer, leaning over to kiss him. Her lips pressed to his, and then she kissed the side of his face, moved down to his neck. She remained there, lips brushing across his skin. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" She paused, placed another kiss on his neck. The tops of her knees pressed against his thigh.   
  
Harry nodded. He held her loosely in his arms. "Yes. But—you're not too tired? Are you up for this?"  
  
"I don't know," answered Ginny in an uneven voice. "Why don't we find out?"   
  
///  
  
Harry woke in the dark, feeling slightly disoriented, as if he'd just Flooed somewhere.   
  
He yawned, reaching out to grab for something—someone—and found a pillow. No, that wasn't right. Or was it? Was something else suppos—  
  
Ah, right. Ginny was back.   
  
He opened his eyes again, squinting in an effort to make out the shapes in the room without his glasses. Eventually he gave up and sat up, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand. He blinked as his eyesight settled. No, still no Ginny.   
  
She'd practically passed out after they had sex, but maybe she was finding it hard to sleep next to another person again, after sleeping alone for two months?  _I could keep her company, if she can't sleep,_  he decided. In between dinner, getting James and Albus ready for bed, and post-trip lovemaking, they hadn't had a chance to actually talk very much. Now was as good a time as any. He got out of bed and made his way quietly down the stairs.   
  
When he got downstairs, he found Ginny in the unlit kitchen, looking out the window up at the sky. She was crying.  
  
///  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked, standing in the doorway to the kitchen like an idiot. He didn't think he'd ever seen Ginny cry like that, body shaking and trembling from silent sobs, as if she'd been devastated by something.   
  
She spun around when she heard him, hands flying up to cover her face. "Harry. I—I didn't hear you."   
  
"I didn't want to wake the kids," he said absentmindedly, stepping fully into the kitchen and walking to stand beside her. "Gin. What's wrong?"  
  
She still had half her face covered with her hands. Tears continued to roll down her cheeks as she looked up at him. "You weren't supposed to see this," she whispered. "You—" She stopped herself. "But I guess, sooner or later—" She shook her head. "We can't talk about this here," she said decisively. "James or Al…"   
  
"Just tell me what's wrong," Harry pleaded. It scared him to hear her talk like that, to hear the words  _sooner or later_  and not know what they meant. "We can deal with it together, I can help you fix it. I'm right here."   
  
What he said must have been the wrong thing, because Ginny broke down into silent sobs again.   
  
Harry tried to hold her close, to comfort her, but she pulled away from him. "No. Don't," she managed to say in a watery voice. "Let's go outside to the garden, so we can talk."   
  
Harry nodded, stepping back to give her room to stand. "Okay, sure. Let's go."   
  
///  
  
The night air was chillier than he'd expected, the summer temperatures already giving way to autumn. Harry could hear crickets chirping nearby. They sat together on the small wooden bench that Harry and Ginny had built by hand one afternoon, a month or two after buying this house.   
  
"Now," said Harry, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Ginny's right ear. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"   
  
Ginny took a shaky breath. "I don't know how," she said, then immediately shook her head, "No, no, that's not right." She turned to him, finally meeting his eyes. "Harry."   
  
"Yes, Ginny?" he answered in continued alarm. She was crying again, though this time she blinked away the tears, as if trying to get a hold of herself.   
  
"I've been unfaithful."   
  
Harry stared at her, thinking perhaps he had heard her wrong. Maybe he just needed to ask her to repeat herself, clarify things. This only lasted a few moments, before unbidden images appeared in his mind: a man's hand reaching across a table to hold Ginny's, how she hadn't pulled away, her smile. "Oh," he said. Oh, right.   
  
"Not," Ginny started again, continuing on as though she couldn't quite help herself, "not physically. We haven't so much as kissed. But how I feel..." She trailed off, guilt making her expression pained, wretched. "We've been growing apart, and I kept on hoping that if I tried harder it would be the way it used to be."  
  
"But you fell in love with someone else," Harry said; it was for Ginny as much as it was a confirmation for himself.   
  
"Yes," she answered after a beat. She lowered her head then, and broke into a fresh bout of tears, gasping and shaking quietly. "I'm so sorry, Harry."   
  
Somehow it was her apology that broke the trance he was in. He stood up, his mind so full of all the thoughts, all the emotions he'd had for the past year, that he felt suffocated by them. "I, um. I need to go," he said, looking away from her because she was still weeping, and he shouldn't be leaving but he couldn't very well stay here right now, either. "I need some fresh air," he said, a little breathless, his voice cracking. It was a poor excuse, of course, because they were already outside.   
  
"Harry—" Ginny began, reaching up for him, but he stepped away.   
  
He hesitated, then glanced down at her one more time, managed a small smile he hoped was reassuring. "I'll be back, I promise."   
  
He turned around and walked out the gate. She didn't stop him.   
  
///  
  
Harry glanced around. Afraid of being followed, he'd Apparated as soon as he was sure to be out of Ginny's sight. Having thought, at random, of another garden he once visited, Harry now found himself at the entrance to the Embankment Gardens. For lack of something better to do, he carried on walking down the street, letting his feet take him wherever they wanted.  
  
He'd made it to the end of the road before he realized he was going too fast and deliberately slowed down, steadied his pace so that he was walking rather than running.   
  
 _Yes,_  Ginny had agreed readily to the statement that she'd fallen for someone else. Not even a moment's hesitation, her tone had announced how sure she was of the fact more than any words could.   
  
The street lights cast elongated shadows onto the pavement, stretched-out silhouettes of himself that hovered persistently ahead of him like a whole other person, someone who was just taking a midnight stroll down a near-empty street because they felt like it. He wished he could be that other person and not have to deal with this.   
  
He carried on walking, willing himself to concentrate on the rhythm of his footsteps instead of the thoughts that were fighting for dominance in his mind.   
  
He stopped when his surroundings became more familiar, nameless buildings giving way to shops and houses he recognized again. The sign at the nearest junction read 'St. Martin's Ln.' His feet had carried him towards the shop.   
  
 _I could go there,_  he thought. He could just keep going for a few more streets and be in front of the brown brick building, see the shop that he'd taken over in order to spend more time with his children, with Ron and Hermione, with Ginny.  
  
He remembered how Ginny had come one weekend to help renew the charms on all the shelves. They'd ordered sandwiches from the café across the street, and all of them—Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and little James—sat at the big table where Snape worked now, eating and talking happily about their plans for the place, for the future.   
  
He swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled out his wand.   
  
///  
  
Ginny was in their bedroom, sitting in bed and hugging her drawn-up knees to her chest. She straightened out her legs as Harry approached. In the lamplight, Harry could see that her face was still streaked with tears.   
  
He sat down at the foot of the bed. Just a few hours ago they had made love in this bed, and Harry had thought that finally, finally things would be normal again.   
  
"Where did you go?" Ginny asked.   
  
"Just walking. Sorry I was gone so long. I went further than I meant to."   
  
She drew in a shuddering breath, drawing her legs up again. "Harry—"   
  
"Ginny, please," he interrupted, placing a hand on her feet. He rubbed one of them absently; they were so cold. "Before you say anything else, please know that I—that I love you."   
  
He'd had so many doubts, but this had never truly been one of them. She was Ginny, the woman he married, the mother of his children, his friend and partner.   
  
"Could you—Could you maybe…" He paused, vision blurring, the pain in his chest so acute it was difficult to continue. For the first time that night, he couldn't fight the tears back. They slid silently down one cheek, then the other.   
  
Ginny's feet twitched in his hand, and then she was scrambling up towards him, climbing into his arms. "Oh, Harry," she whispered hoarsely, burying her face against his neck, "of course, of course I love you."   
  
He held her and trembled in relief. "Could we take some time?" he asked in a thick voice he hardly recognized as his own. "We don't have to decide what to do now."  
  
"Whatever I decide, we'll still be a family?"   
  
His heart fell a little, but he nodded. "We'll still be family."   
  
///  
  
In a slightly surreal way, the next day passed without either of them mentioning what had happened. When Harry got up in the morning Ginny had already managed to get both boys out of bed and into day clothes suitable for a day spent sitting on the floor of the shop and handling dusty old things.   
  
"Good morning," Ginny said, before setting a plate of eggs and bacon on the table in front of him.   
  
Harry smiled and thanked her. From then on it was like any normal morning, talking and laughing with the kids, Ginny giving him a goodbye hug on the way out the door. If there was a faint hint of guilt in her eyes as she turned away to pick up her bag, it wasn't something Harry tried to notice.   
  
///  
  
There was a dark green canister on the counter right next to the till when he got to the shop with James and Albus in tow. They wrenched out of his hands and ran to the corner where Rose sat with the porcelain tea set that Hermione had transfigured from a box of clothespins. "What's this?" he asked Hermione.   
  
"Snape brought it. He said it was for you." She nudged it across towards him. "I wonder why he didn't give it to you himself."  
  
Snape had told him  _Congratulations_  yesterday when they were preparing to leave for Ginny's coming home dinner. If only he'd known that there was nothing to congratulate Harry for now. Everything was—   
  
"Aren't you going to open it?"   
  
"Right." He twisted the cap open. It was tea. Harry sniffed, smelling oranges. Oh. He remembered that morning in Snape's kitchen, laughing about the color of the cupboards and drinking down the tea Snape had made him, sip by sip.  
  
"Mmm, smells nice," Hermione said. She frowned. "Where did he buy this?"   
  
"He didn't," Harry answered, closing his eyes and taking another big whiff of it. "It's his own blend."   
  
He opened his eyes to find Hermione studying him, her burrows slightly furrowed. "What is it?" he asked, setting the canister down.   
  
She shook her head. "You seem...a bit tired, that's all."   
  
"Oh. I didn't get much sleep last night. Is Snape still…" He poked his head through the curtain and peered into the back room. Marcus stood on a ladder by one of the shelves, reaching for something.   
  
"He's out with Ron today," Hermione said. "They won't be back until lunch." She shifted in her chair. "Harry, are you okay? You're a little distracted."   
  
He looked back at her. He wanted to tell her how he wasn't really okay at all, how it seemed as though he was waiting for an execution that he already knew was coming.   
  
He blinked, knowing he was taking too long to answer. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" he said, unable to give her an outright lie. "I just need to get through today without passing out," he continued, which was the truth. "Maybe some of this tea…"   
  
"Well, I'd love to try a cup of that too, if you don't mind? And the children might want a tea party."   
  
Harry managed a grin. "All right. But let's water it down for them, or we won't be able to get them to bed tonight. This stuff is really strong."  
  
///  
  
Despite the watering down of the tea, it took Harry and Ginny over an hour of lullabies and bedtime storytelling before both of the children conked out that night.   
  
He smoothed a hand gently over Al's hair. He was already drooling lightly onto the fleece pillowcase. Glancing over at Ginny, who was by James' bed, he saw that she was also stroking his hair. "They're so happy," she whispered. "Just look at the both of them."   
  
Harry got up and went to her, holding out a hand to help her up. "Let's go to bed now." She nodded, and took his hand.   
  
///  
  
The entire week passed in this quiet, tentative way. Ginny was painfully polite to him, and Harry was polite right back, and they avoided being alone together. If they talked, they talked about the news, or about an article Ginny was writing, or about the shop's more eccentric patrons.   
  
There was dinner with the Weasleys, and appointments at potential preschools for James, and a get-together with Luna, Neville, and some Hogwarts people, and neither of them had any energy left to talk about anything serious.   
  
He understood that Ginny had scheduled all those appointments herself, was trying to buy them time, keep them both busy. It only made him feel as though he was falling even deeper into despair.   
  
On Friday night Ginny had to work late. Harry sat through all of dinner wondering whether or not she was really working, and if she was, with whom? That man from the cafe? Some other bloke?   
  
He felt so guilty after he had the thought that when he'd put the kids to bed he found the almost-empty bottle of firewhiskey in a cupboard and set it on the kitchen counter. Seriously considered drinking the rest of it, straight from the bottle.   
  
He emptied it down the drain instead.   
  
///  
  
"I asked Hermione if she could take the children for a few hours," Ginny told him on Saturday morning.   
  
Harry stopped in the middle of stacking the groceries into the pantry. After days of avoiding the issue and holding onto James and Albus like life rafts in a shipwreck, Ginny was sending them away.   
  
"Harry?" she asked after he'd been silent for too long.   
  
"When are we taking them?"   
  
"I can take them on my own," she said. More silence stretched between them.   
  
"All right," he agreed. "I'll wait here."   
  
///  
  
They sat facing each other across the dining room table. Ginny was wearing one of Molly's jumpers, even though it was still a week away from September and not very cold out. It was one of the things she wore for comfort, on sick days.   
  
Was today a sick day?   
  
He kept on waiting for Ginny to start talking, to tell him something, but she just stared at him like it hurt her to look at him, and eventually he couldn't stand it anymore. "Have you decided, then?"   
  
She shook her head. "How could I? I don't think I could ever."   
  
He wanted to tell her she didn't have to, that they could just continue to ignore this. "Tell me about him?" is what came out of his mouth instead. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he supposed it was better than not knowing.   
  
It took a while, but she started to talk. His name was Thomas and he was a sports journalist like her. They'd tracked the Albertus case together. He made her feel proud of herself, like she could do anything she wanted to do.   
  
Harry listened as she described long walks on the streets of Germany, how he'd taken her to a beer hall one evening and they'd danced all night, how good it had felt. How they'd held hands and how she'd known it was wrong.   
  
Harry listened in a detached sort of way, as if she was describing someone else, not his wife Ginny, who was supposed to want only him.   
  
 _You're an idiot,_  Snape's voice was suddenly there, and then his own voice,  _But not because I want you,_  and Harry felt abruptly cold, lost. It wasn't just Ginny; they were supposed to want only each other, but they didn't anymore.   
  
"It's over, isn't it?" he asked in a ragged voice.   
  
She shook her head again. "It can't be," she said, as if trying to convince herself. "It's not just us. It's James and Al, and everything." Her eyes were pleading with him to agree with her.   
  
He reached across the table and took her hand, squeezed it in his. "Are we really the kind of people who would stay together just for the kids?" he asked gently.  _Say yes, tell me you want to stay together._  But he already knew what her answer was.   
  
She shook her head a third time,  _no, we aren't,_  and then broke down completely.  
  
///  
  
They lay on the sofa, their sides pressed close together.   
  
"It's not just you," Harry told her quietly, though it hurt him to say it.   
  
"What do you mean?"   
  
"I thought about someone else, too. While you were away. I got drunk, and I thought things." He squeezed his eyes shut. "But it wasn't all the alcohol. So It wasn't just you. I realized that if we were both feeling this way..."   
  
"...It probably means something is seriously wrong."   
  
"Yes."   
  
"I just wish it didn't hurt so much." She leaned more heavily against him.   
  
Harry put his arms more firmly around her and stroked her hair, his chest tight. "Me too."   
  
///  
  
"Hi," Harry said, when Snape's door creaked open. "Can I come in?"  
  
He must have looked like a complete mess, because Snape didn't even argue, just stepped aside and let him inside. Harry followed him down the hall and into the kitchen, where something was bubbling on the stove.   
  
"It smells good."   
  
"A curry," explained Snape. "I was in the middle of preparing dinner." His tone was so deliberately accusatory that Harry had to smile.   
  
"Sorry for interrupting."   
  
Snape ignored his apology and went to stir the pot. "Why have you come?"   
  
Harry smoothed his hand across the oak table. "If I said, 'to sleep on your sofa,' would you turn me away?" He held his breath, watching Snape's reaction closely.   
  
Snape's hand paused in its stirring of the pot for a second before resuming, but he didn't turn around. "Why on earth would you do that?" he asked in a voice that betrayed no particular emotion.   
  
"I can't sleep in my bed tonight," Harry said. "And I didn't want James or Al to see me sleeping on our sofa." He still felt a sharp pain when he mentioned James and Albus.   
  
Snape did turn, then, to consider Harry with narrowed eyes. He opened his mouth, and in that instant Harry thought that if Snape asked him what was wrong he would tell him everything, he would very likely cry in the middle of Snape's kitchen and there would be no excuse, because he hadn't had even a drop of alcohol tonight.   
  
"I assume you'll want food, as well," was what Snape said instead.   
  
Harry laughed, then had to wipe his eyes because the laughter had made him tear up. Yeah, that was definitely it. "Food would be great."   
  
"Then you might as well make yourself useful and set the table," said Snape, turning back to tend to his curry. "It should be quite simple to find the plates and cutlery."   
  
"Right." Grinning, Harry hopped up to check the orange cupboards.   
  
///  
  
Snape's curry was spicy and rich. Harry, who hadn't eaten anything all day, devoured it in record time.  
  
Snape glanced down at Harry's plate, then back up at Harry, who sat waiting for Snape to finish his own dinner. Then he got up and reached for the plate. "More?" he said, not quite a question, because he was already walking over to the curry pot and ladling a second serving onto the plate.   
  
"Thanks," Harry said when the plate was set back down in front of him. He dug in. Snape was, not surprisingly, a pretty good cook.   
  
When dinner was over Harry followed Snape out into the living room. There was a blanket already laid out on the sofa; Snape must have placed it there while Harry was cleaning the dishes.   
  
Harry sank into the sofa, some of his tension draining away. "Thanks," he said.   
  
"Don't be redundant."   
  
Harry wondered to himself how he had grown to be so fond of Snape's testy remarks. Was it when they started to work together? Was it earlier, during those drop-offs? He couldn't place the exact moment it happened, which he figured was how things worked.   
  
"Are you amused by anything in particular?"   
  
Harry shook his head. "Just in general. It's funny how things change." He shifted on the sofa. "Would you sit with me?"   
  
He acknowledged the wary look Snape shot him, and realized how it looked. The last time they'd been alone together like this, Harry had been apologizing for making a drunken pass at Snape, and now Harry was in his home after a supposed incident with Ginny, asking Snape to join him on the sofa. "Um, I didn't mean—"   
  
And just like that, as if simply denying it had given Harry's brain a green light, he found himself thinking about what it would be like. To touch Snape, to have Snape's longer fingers on his skin, to take what he'd already admitted he wanted, because what was stopping him now?   
  
He flushed, horrified with himself.   
  
"Sentences are usually meant to be finished, Potter."   
  
Harry blinked up at Snape. "Sorry," he muttered, rubbing at his temples. "Merlin. Three hours ago I found out my marriage really is over, and now I'm thinking about—" He really couldn't say it, after all. Snape didn't seem angry now, but he might be, if Harry told him everything he'd been thinking, and then Harry would really have nowhere to go.   
  
Groaning, he covered his entire face with his hands, afraid that he might really begin to cry. In some way, being here with Snape made it suddenly real in a way it hadn't been when he sat holding Ginny in their home. He'd had to be strong for Ginny, and he'd said all the reassuring things he knew she needed to hear.   
  
 _We'll still be a family,_  he'd said.  _James and Al will be okay,_  he'd said.   
  
Shit, James and Albus. How were they actually going to tell them?   
  
Harry almost jumped when Snape spoke; he hadn't realized Snape was sitting next to him on the sofa. "Shall I fetch a bottle of something?"  
  
Harry considered it, but then he remembered that he'd vowed never to be drunk alone with Snape again. "I've already dug a little hole for myself, I can't imagine what I'd say to you if I were drunk," he said honestly.   
  
"I imagine I would forgive you, given the circumstances," Snape said quietly, his expression unreadable.   
  
Harry knew it was pathetic, but Snape's words made him feel marginally better. Slowly, he began to talk, to tell Snape what had happened with Ginny, how conflicted he felt about the whole thing, half devastation and half relief. He talked for longer than he meant to, and Snape sat listening.   
  
"...and I don't really know what to do, now. How to face Molly and Arthur, or even Ron."   
  
"Do you suppose they might hate you?" asked Snape.   
  
It was irrational, but Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid. "They're the only family I have."  
  
"Don't be an idiot. The Weasleys have always been irritatingly sentimental. I doubt you could be rid of them even if you tried."  
  
"Do you know," said Harry, "you always know exactly what bad-tempered thing to say to make me feel better?"   
  
///  
  
He came home the next day to find Ginny out in the garden, watching as James and Al pulled weeds out from the row of potatoes.   
  
"Where did you sleep?" she asked when she saw him, and Harry realized he'd left without telling her for how long he'd be gone. This was the second time, wasn't it?  
  
He sat down next to her. "I slept on Snape's sofa," he said. Ginny looked mildly surprised, so he elaborated. "We talk sometimes, about things. He's…"  _The person I told you about_. No, he wasn't ready to say that. "...good at knocking sense into my head."   
  
She nodded, smiling absently in acknowledgment of Snape's formidability. Harry watched as she reached up to tuck back a strand of hair that had been picked up by the breeze.  
  
"Have you thought about how we should do this?" she asked tentatively.   
  
"No," Harry answered truthfully. "But we could think about it together, if you're ready."   
  
///  
  
As Harry expected, it was painful to discuss the process of taking apart a life they'd built together over the course of a decade. There were so many decisions to be made, so many things to consider.   
  
They made a list of it, eventually, and tasked themselves with completing at least one item a day for the next few weeks. That way, they were able to move forward, to transition into this different state of being.   
  
Giving everyone else the news was hardest. Ron stared at both of them in shock for a few minutes before he was able to say anything, and only then because Hermione threatened to hit him. Molly cried, and Arthur asked them to keep on trying, and Ginny had to explain why that wasn't an option, which made Molly cry even harder.   
  
James and Albus could only understand that they would be selling the house and Harry and Ginny would live separately. It broke Harry's heart when James asked if that meant both his mum and dad wouldn't be there for bedtime. "...like when Mum was away?"   
  
Things continued to change. Little by little, the people around them began to accept that Harry and Ginny Potter were no longer a couple. As they crossed more and more items off their list, Harry discovered that, in between lawyer visits and open houses and a million other things to coordinate, the pain had somehow become bearable.   
  
///  
  
"D'you want us to stay?" Ron asked, after he'd set down the last box on Harry's living room floor.  
  
"Or you could come for dinner," Hermione said from the doorway that led into the kitchen.   
  
Harry declined both offers, citing his need to run to do some light painting before he could unpack. "Besides," he added, "it'll be good for me to get used to this place."   
  
The new place was a well-lit maisonette close to the shop, in Bloomsbury; the street name alone had made him smile, and he'd wondered when he saw the listing what Snape would say to him living on a street with a name like Red Lion. It had been enough to get Harry to the open house, and he'd fallen in love with it when he'd discovered the tiny stairs that led to a small private garden directly below the main floor. It wasn't anything like the garden they'd had at the old place, but Harry could still picture James and Al playing out there when weather was good.   
  
There was the kitchen, too. Harry had chuckled to himself when he saw the turquoise-green cupboards that had appalled many of the other prospective buyers at the open house. They brought to mind Snape's kitchen cupboards, and when he'd been at the store selecting paint colors he'd almost given into the urge to select a shade of orange to paint them.   
  
"What do you need orange paint for?" Ron, standing beside him, had asked, and Harry had passed on the idea. Orange cupboards would be a bit too obvious, wouldn't it?   
  
In the end, after an afternoon of canvassing and taping things, the cupboards were painted a pale yellow that made the kitchen bright and cheerful. Harry unpacked what he could while the paint dried, and was tired enough by dinnertime to just go with take-away, which he ordered from a Chinese place a couple of streets away.   
  
After dinner, he tested the paint on the kitchen cupboards, and when it proved safe to the touch, began to stack them with the magical creatures mural plates Luna had brought over that morning as a housewarming gift. By the time he'd finished all the unpacking, Harry was exhausted, and the bed was a welcome comfort.   
  
  
///  
  
  
Sleep should have come, but what came instead were thoughts. Now that he was alone, with his own place, Harry found himself thinking about Snape again—not exactly uncommon these days, and really, it'd more or less stopped dismaying him. He'd just been divorced, after all. Maybe a mid-life crisis could come earlier than usual, under the circumstances.   
  
He wondered what Snape was doing right at this moment, whether he was in his work room fiddling with some project or other, or whether he was already asleep in bed. Harry had never seen Snape's bed.   
  
Snape's bed. Snape in bed. Bedding.  _"I'm not in the habit of bedding married men."_  It had been a simple statement when Snape said it, but in the weeks since Harry's divorce a question had formed in Harry's mind: was Snape in the habit of bedding  _un_ married men?  
  
That line of thought brought with it memories of Snape's face hovering near him, Snape's arms surrounding him, Snape angrily asking if he should fuck Harry, as if it was something he could just  _do_ , something he had experience with.   
  
Harry trembled, turned on by the memory of Snape's voice. Alone in his bed, no longer within earshot of friends or relatives in a nearby room, he found no reason not to give in to his arousal; it had been so long since he'd done this. Slipping his fingers under the waistband of his pyjama bottoms, he stroked himself and thought of Snape.   
  
///  
  
"I never thanked you for the tea," Harry said, placing the green canister onto the table in front of Snape. His heart beat faster than it should have; he was just returning a container, not asking Snape out on a date, for god's sake. All the same, talking face to face with the man he'd masturbated to the night before was awkward, no matter what he was saying.   
  
Snape tapped the canister with his wand and shrank it, then dropped into one of his pockets. "You're welcome."   
  
"Can I pay you? For the ingredients?"   
  
Snape had already turned his attention back to his current task, and didn't look at Harry when he answered. "Certainly not," he said, with a small frown on his face. "I'll refill the tin. Is that all?"   
  
 _No,_  Harry wanted to say,  _I also want to know if you are in the habit of bedding single men._  The thought flitted lightning-quick into his mind. He felt himself flush. "Yeah, thanks," he said, and made a quick retreat.  
  
  
  
  
 **YEAR FOUR:**  
  
Hermione stirred her coffee and eyed Harry with that expression she had when she was attempting to say something tactfully. She'd taken him out to lunch, so it wasn't surprising that she had something to say.  
  
"What is it?" Harry asked, curious.   
  
"Well," she said, then stirred her coffee again for good measure, "have you gone over this week's schedule for James and Albus with Ginny yet?"   
  
"Not yet. Did Rose want to—"  
  
"Oh, no," Hermione interrupted. "It's just…" She bit her lip before continuing: "...did you know that next Wednesday is Severus's birthday?"   
  
"Um," said Harry, "No, I did not."   
  
"I see."  
  
"I...wasn't aware that it was," Harry said slowly, "but I'm glad that you told me." It occurred to Harry that if Hermione was telling him this, then it was safe to assume she already knew he'd want to know. More importantly, she probably knew  _why_ he'd want to know.   
  
"I thought you would be."   
  
There was really no use in playing dumb, but… "Do you think Ron will hate it?" Or worse yet… "Would he think that I, before—"   
  
"No," Hermione supplied promptly. "Don't be silly. He knows you were as devastated as anyone by the breakup. Both of you were.  
  
"He won't expect it to be Severus, but he'll get over it. Do you know he asked me if I thought Severus would come to Christmas dinner?"   
  
Harry laughed again, imagining Snape in a crowd of Weasleys. "I don't deserve you, Hermione."   
  
She grinned at him. "Of course you do. We deserve each other."   
  
///  
  
"Do you know," Harry said as they walked back to the shop, "I haven't told him how I feel yet?"   
  
"Are you afraid of being rejected?" she asked bluntly.   
  
"Well, yeah," Harry admitted. "I mentioned it once and he was really angry. But I was drunk, so he might have thought I was joking, or…" He shrugged. "...or running away, or something. I might've been."   
  
"You're not running away now."   
  
"No, I'm not. But he might not be interested anyway." Merlin, this was depressing.   
  
"I wouldn't give up just yet," Hermione told him. She shot him a glance, her expression hesitant, as though she wasn't sure she should say anything. "He wouldn't watch you the way he does if he weren't at least a little interested."   
  
"Wait—what?"   
  
///  
  
Snape had a book of curses pinned to the table when Harry walked in, and was scraping at the open mouth on the spine with a pair of long-nosed tweezers. Harry smiled; Snape looked like the world's most sinister dentist.   
  
He sat down and watched as Snape worked relentlessly on the book, occasionally swearing at it when it tried to eat the tweezers.   
  
In time, Snape managed to accomplish whatever it was he was doing and gave a low cry of triumph before drawing back. The mouth on the book's spine squeaked, then its lips slapped shut and it went still.   
  
"Success?" asked Harry. He received a grunt of confirmation. Glancing at the clock, he noticed with dismay that he'd been observing Snape for over an hour, and it was now past closing time. He walked quickly back to the front of the shop only to find the sign had already been turned around. Hermione, Ron, and Marcus were all gone, as well. He tried to remember if he'd heard them say anything about closing shop—could both he and Snape have been so focused they didn't hear?   
  
Then he remembered.  _Find some time alone with him,_  Hermione had advised on the walk back from lunch. Had she somehow managed to drag Ron and Marcus silently away to give Harry that alone time?   
  
He could feel himself turning red as he turned back to Snape, who was putting away his tools. He searched his brain for something to say, but nothing useful came. Eventually he settled for walking back over to the table and nodded at the book of curses. "How much do you think it'll fetch?"   
  
Snape slung his tool bag over one shoulder. "Ask for one hundred Galleons, but sell it if they offer more than seventy-five."   
  
Harry nodded, and Snape walked past him, towards the exit. He stepped forward, heart racing, staring at Snape's back. "Wait."   
  
Snape stopped, half-turned, just one side of his face visible. Harry wished he would turn all the way, it was so difficult to read his expression this way—and Harry had waited too long to say something again, hadn't he?   
  
His delay was good for something, though, because now Snape was turning fully around, dark eyes meeting Harry's.   
  
"Um," Harry said, then bought himself more time by taking another few steps forward. "It's getting late."  
  
"Yes. Terribly late."   
  
 _So hurry the hell up_ , was probably implied, Harry thought. "Have you had dinner?" Immediately after he said the words, he realized, "No, of course you haven't, you've been here the whole time. Oh, god. I'm terrible at this." Really, he was no longer a teenager, what the hell was wrong with him?  
  
Snape's eyes narrowed as he studied Harry for a second. "Are you in some inept way asking me to dinner?"   
  
"Yes," Harry admitted. He tried for a bit of bravery. "Don't say no."   
  
Snape didn't say anything right away, and Harry's spirits began to droop.   
  
"I just thought we could go somewhere. The kids are at Ginny's today, and—but if it's not a good time—"  
  
"There's a restaurant that serves excellent Vietnamese noodles by my building," said Snape, interrupting him. He was already turning back around to lead the way out of the shop.   
  
Harry blinked, then grinned and followed after him.   
  
///  
  
Harry dunked a thin slice of beef into the dark brown dipping sauce. He put it in his mouth, then sipped a spoonful of broth and noodles from the spoon he held with his other hand. "Like that?" he asked Snape after he had consumed the mouthful.   
  
Across from him, Snape nodded curtly. Snape had taught Harry  _'the proper way to eat phở'_  when their order came and Harry had been foolish enough to grab only a fork and no spoon.   
  
Harry beamed at him and readied another spoonful of delicious broth and noodles for himself. "You know, I don't think we've ever had dinner out together."   
  
"There was the rather disastrous night at the pub," said Snape. Harry looked up quickly, but Snape had his eyes on his own food.   
  
"I meant by ourselves," Harry clarified, face flushing suddenly; this broth was really hot. "Ron and Marcus were with us for dinner that one time." His thoughts flitted to that Italian restaurant the very next day; the conversation he'd had with Snape; how Snape had told him not to be inane.   
  
"Hm," said Snape, as if agreeing with Harry that it didn't count. Or maybe he was just enjoying the food. Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking when he had his face lowered towards the bowl like that.   
  
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Harry fiddled with his fork, watching as Snape ate. He was so good with those chopsticks. "I thought you'd never forgive me," he said quietly after a while. "You were so angry that night."   
  
Snape's hands froze. He looked up at Harry and scowled. "I thought we agreed to forget about that."   
  
"You started it," Harry pointed out, unable to resist.   
  
Snape's scowl deepened. "I misunderstood your intentions, as we discussed."   
  
 _Discussed?_  Harry couldn't stop his grin. "I don't remember discussing anything. Just me apologizing and apologizing, and you telling me to shut up."   
  
"And yet here you are, still talking."   
  
Harry laughed, feeling warm and comfortable again. It was so easy to be delighted by the things Snape said, if he only gave himself the chance.  
  
///  
  
They were completely finished with dinner before Harry spoke again. "You never answered my question, you know."   
  
"What question," Snape asked, but he wasn't meeting Harry's eyes, and it didn't seem like he wanted to know at all. Or maybe he already knew.   
  
"What if I wanted you?" Snape had told Harry to do whatever the hell he wanted that day as they were walking back from the meeting. Harry had asked him that question, and Snape had refused to answer. "No, want, not wanted. What if I want you?"  
  
Snape used his chopsticks to pick the few remaining noodles out of his bowl and deposited them into the dipping sauce dish, one at a time. He still refused to return Harry's gaze. "In what capacity do you 'want' me, Potter?" he asked as he stared at the leftover broth in his bowl, his voice soft and mocking. "Do you even know?"   
  
There was a challenge in his words, Harry knew, a test that Harry was meant to fail, but Harry had known this was coming, things were never easy with Snape, after all. "Of course I do," he answered. He leaned forward and grabbed Snape's chopsticks from his hands; Snape relinquished them pretty easily, and now he had Snape's attention, Snape's dark eyes finally focused on him.   
  
"Come home with me," he said. "I'm not even remotely drunk this time, and I'm not joking, not even a little bit. And I'm not married anymore." He forced all the need and desire he felt into the look he directed at Snape, hoping that it was enough, that Snape would finally get a fucking clue. "Please."   
  
Snape stared at him for long enough that he began to think he was going to be rejected. Maybe Hermione had been wrong and Snape really wasn't interested. Maybe Snape had only ever been polite and decent to him, in his own peculiar way, and Harry had completely misread him. Maybe—  
  
"Why in the world would I go home with you," Snape said in a low voice. Harry could feel himself deflate. Right, of course Snape wouldn't— "when we are literally steps away from my house?"   
  
Oh. Harry looked up at him, wide-eyed, and laughed in relief. "I don't know, I really wasn't thinking."   
  
"I supposed as much," said Snape wryly.   
  
///  
  
The climb up the winding stairs to Snape's flat had never been more frustrating. More than once, in his haste to clear the steps, Harry almost slipped on an icy spot; only his hand clinging to the railing saved him.   
  
When they got to the door, he shivered from the cold—or maybe from nerves, he didn't really know. He fancied that the snake at the door grinned at him, its eyes glinting bright green, before the door swung open and he stepped into the warmth of the hallway.   
  
Snape turned to him and held out a hand. "Your coat," he commanded. Harry stripped off his gloves and shoved them into the pocket of his coat, then shrugged out of it. He gave it to Snape, who hung it on a peg by the door. Snape got out of his own coat and hung it beside Harry's.   
  
"Come," Snape said, and led the way to the living room. "Sit here," he instructed, pointing to the sofa, "while I make tea."   
  
Harry sat. He watched Snape turn and walk towards the kitchen, and considered offering to come help, or at least sit in the kitchen with Snape. Then he thought better of it. Time alone to compose himself was something he probably needed.   
  
Snape came back after an eternity that was in reality probably more like five minutes, and they sat silently next to each other on the sofa and drank tea.   
  
This hadn't gone how Harry thought it would go, fifteen minutes ago when he'd paid for dinner and hurriedly slipped into his coat to follow Snape home. Now that he was actually alone with Snape, Harry realized he didn't know what to do next. He couldn't actually imagine just turning to Snape and doing what he'd done with Ginny, grabbing Snape's hand or caressing his cheek.   
  
"Why are you doing this?" Snape's voice almost made him jump.   
  
"What?" asked Harry. "This as in—?"  
  
" _This_ ," Snape gestured between them, impatient. "I am hardly a candidate for someone who's always been inclined towards women. Even if you do appreciate men, I am a particularly unattractive one."   
  
Snape's disparaging assessment of himself made Harry smile, because Snape was on some level right. He couldn't deny that his attraction to Snape was a strange one. "Ginny's always been around, so it was never much of an issue," he admitted, "but I've been thinking about it, and, well. I guess I do like men, too.  
  
"I think about you. A lot. Have done, for months. I lie in bed and I think about you and then I'm so turned on I have to touch myself." He set his cup down on the end table, before he could spill it all over himself, his hands were beginning to shake. Shit. He was getting turned on  _now_ , telling Snape these things. "You asked me how I wanted you."   
  
"I did."   
  
He was about to ask if Snape returned the sentiment, if he wanted Harry too, or if this was all a really embarrassing exercise in futility, just Harry being too pushy and giving way too much information. He turned to look at Snape, opened his mouth to ask, "Well, do  _you_  have any interest in…"  
  
He trailed off when Snape's arm came up and clasped the back of his neck, strong fingers pressing deliberately into flesh. The look Snape directed at him was shocking, all heat and ferocity.   
  
"Potter," Snape said, and Harry shuddered as Snape leaned in close, he could taste Snape's breath on his lips, "Stop talking."  
  
Snape's voice was so rough, Harry thought that he wanted to soothe it, stroke the inside of Snape's mouth with his tongue, and— And there was nothing stopping him, with Snape's mouth so close, was there? And what else was he going to do, since Snape told him not to speak?   
  
He lurched forward, throwing his arms around Snape to pull him closer. It didn't take very much for their lips to meet. Snape didn't resist, just held onto the back of Harry's neck and gripped Harry's shoulder hard with his other hand, and kissed Harry back. Why had Harry been so nervous? This was great, this was so easy, he could just keep kissing Snape all night.   
  
Except they eventually needed air, and they broke apart, gasping. Snape pulled back, breathing hard and looking slightly stunned, as if he'd been Stupefied. Harry hoped he'd been stunned in a good way, and not in a Harry-Potter-has-attacked-me sort of way.   
  
"Snape?" he ventured, after he'd sufficiently caught his breath.   
  
A grunt of acknowledgment followed.   
  
"Have you been with a man before?" He should explain this question, it was so easy to misunderstand, "Because I don't know what happens next." God, why did that have to sound so stupid?   
  
A long silence followed. Harry felt his arousal dampen. That had been the wrong thing to say. He just wanted to kiss Snape again.   
  
Finally, Snape cleared his throat. "Perhaps you should leave," he said, his voice no longer as rough or low as it had been earlier.   
  
It wasn't what Harry had expected, and it bewildered him for a second.   
  
Snape made a small, impatient sound. "As you've said, you have no experience with this. Are you honestly prepared to go further than what we've just done tonight?"   
  
Harry thought about it. "I don't know." He frowned, after a moment. "No, maybe I'm not. But I'd like to try, another night."   
  
"Another night." Snape moved to stand up, and Harry was pleased to see that he took some time to steady himself. "I'll get your coat."  
  
///  
  
Harry tapped the pen in his hand against the counter as he waited for Snape to arrive. They were going out to the flea market again today in search of new stock. For the first time since the night they kissed nearly a week ago, they would be alone together.   
  
"You're fidgety," Marcus noted. He was levitating a large bird cage onto some of the top shelves. "Going out with Snape?"   
  
"What?" Harry said, surprised by Marcus' words. Then he realized that Marcus hadn't meant what Harry'd thought he meant, and colored, trying to recover himself. "No. I mean, yes. He should be coming in any time now."   
  
Marcus gave him an odd look before he wandered into the back room again.   
  
Snape arrived not five minutes later. He kept his coat and gloves on, and walked past Harry to the back room, nodding to him as he passed. Harry hopped off his chair and followed him.   
  
"Can you watch the front now?" Harry asked Marcus, who smiled and gave him a thumbs up.   
  
They left via the back door, and Harry slipped into the driver's seat of the van.   
  
///  
  
They drove in silence.   
  
It was more difficult than Harry thought it would be, to say something to Snape, after so many days of going about their usual business at the shop and completely avoiding any conversation about their snog on Snape's living room sofa.   
  
They made it all the way past the repelling charms and into the main stretch of the London Wizarding Bazaar without talking. Harry found a parking space and stopped the car, suppressing a sigh as he turned off the ignition.   
  
The weather was too cold for many vendors to be out at this time of day, but Harry wandered through the various stalls, scanning the goods on display. Snape had gone off by himself as soon as they left the car, and Harry could see him in an adjacent aisle, talking to a heavily bearded man and pointing at something out of Harry's line of vision.   
  
At the end of a few hours' browsing, they met up again and loaded their purchases into the back of the van. Snape had picked up a rusted abacus, some 17th century silver wand-holders, an enormous Venetian mirror that showed the viewer's reflection in jesters' robes, and a handful of charmed rings. Harry hadn't had as much luck; he only managed to buy a couple of Victorian water jugs which would turn any water poured into them to port.   
  
They were back in the parking lot at the shop before Harry drew up the courage to speak. "Are you doing anything tomorrow?" he asked. "For your birthday?"   
  
If Snape was surprised that Harry knew, he didn't show it. "Working, I understand."   
  
"You could take the day off, if you wanted."   
  
Snape frowned in annoyance. "And do what, precisely? It's only another day." He'd apparently already dismissed the issue, because he reached for the door handle.   
  
Harry grabbed his arm, on impulse. "How about having dinner with me again, then?" he asked, nervous. "My treat."   
  
Snape's mouth twitched. "Are you offering yourself as a present, Potter?" he asked. Harry's pulse quickened under Snape's direct gaze.   
  
"Maybe," he admitted, half-smiling.   
  
Snape's eyes burned for a second, before he glanced away. "I look forward to it." He opened the door and got out before Harry could reply, already walking back to the shop in quick, even steps.   
  
///  
  
The next day was a busy one, thankfully, and passed fairly quickly in a blur of people and sales.   
  
Before he knew it, lunch had come, and he stepped into the back room just as Hermione produced something from her bag and pointed her wand at it. The object un-shrank slowly on the table, until Harry recognized it as a birthday cake.   
  
The dark look Snape gave her was priceless; Ron and Marcus must have thought so, too, because they both started to laugh, earning a glare from Snape.   
  
"This is unnecessary," he told Hermione as she cut the cake with a large knife, also produced from the bag.   
  
"Nonsense," she replied. "Ron, bring the plates."   
  
Snape plainly refused to light candles, snarling a "Ridiculous!" at Marcus when he suggested them, so they all just sat together and ate the cake.   
  
"Want to go for drinks after work, since it's your birthday?" suggested Marcus in between mouthfuls of cake.   
  
Harry looked up quickly, to see Snape freeze for just a fraction of a second, before shaking his head. "I have plans," he said, simply.   
  
Harry tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to hide a smile.   
  
///  
  
"Here it is," Harry said, gesturing vaguely at his living room. He took Snape's coat and hung it on the coat rack. He inhaled, taking in the savory aroma of the stew he'd left to cook in the dutch oven since early morning. It smelled good, and not at all like anything was burning, which was the important thing.   
  
"Do you want something to drink? I've got some things to prepare, but it shouldn't take more than ten minutes."   
  
"Water," said Snape as he followed Harry into the kitchen.   
  
"Right." Harry pulled out a chair for Snape to sit, and poured him some water from the pitcher in the refrigerator. "Hope you like stew," he said, opening a cupboard to pull out the plates.   
  
The stew was a recipe Harry'd gotten from Hermione, who told him that it was her mother's best cook-ahead meal. He served it over rice, which he cooked quickly on the stove, using a spell he'd learnt from Molly to speed up the process.   
  
He watched as Snape dug into the stew with his spoon.   
  
"How is it?" he asked.   
  
"Tolerable."  
  
Harry tasted the stew himself. "Tolerable? It's bloody delicious!"   
  
"You always did have trouble with modesty, Potter," replied Snape, lips twitching. He ate another spoonful, then another. "It's enjoyable."   
  
Harry grinned, feeling rather pleased with himself. "You're welcome."   
  
///  
  
When they were done with the food Harry got up to take the dishes to the sink. "Do you want some tea?" he asked over his shoulder, running some water over the dirty plates.   
  
"No, thank you."   
  
"Sure? I have something besides rubbish Earl Grey this time, if that's what you're worried about," Harry joked.   
  
"I do believe I would rather have my present now," said Snape, voice low.  
  
Harry froze, then exhaled sharply and shut off the tap. He turned slowly. Snape sat in the chair and looked at Harry with a predatory gleam in his eyes that made Harry's blood rush to his cock; there was no mistaking the intent in that look.  
  
"All right," Harry said faintly. He groped for a kitchen towel behind him and wiped his wet hands with it before hurrying over to where Snape stood, his heart beating too fast in his chest.   
  
Snape's hand came up; he ran the back of his fingers lightly against Harry's jaw line, back and forth, causing tingles to run up and down Harry's spine. "I assume that you've had enough time to change your mind, if you intend to," he said softly, his hand stopping, curling around Harry's neck, just as it did the night they kissed.   
  
"I'm not going to change my mind," Harry said, with conviction.   
  
"Very good," said Snape, moving to place his lips over Harry's.   
  
Harry closed his eyes and kissed back with abandon. He groaned and hung onto Snape; Snape's tongue stroking and licking deftly at his mouth was making his legs weak. Snape's arm around him held him up.   
  
"Undo your belt," Snape instructed, in between kisses.   
  
Harry moaned against his mouth and complied, hands shaking as they fumbled with the belt buckle. Shit, why had he worn a belt today?   
  
"There," he panted when he finally succeeded. He unzipped his trousers, too; they slid gradually downwards as Snape's hands caught on his shirt. He felt himself being moved, turned around and pressed down onto something—the chair.  
  
Snape pulled back and stared down hotly at the bulge straining under the fabric of Harry's underwear. Harry shifted in the chair, and moaned again when Snape lowered himself onto his knees. Oh god. Oh shit.   
  
"Lift up," Snape commanded. He slipped fingers under the waistband of Harry's underwear and, when Harry did as he was told, pulled it off of him. Harry gasped and had to cling to the arms of the chair when he felt the heat of Snape's breath over his cock.   
  
"Are—are you going to—" Harry stuttered, eyes riveted to Snape's mouth, which drew nearer and nearer. " _Fuck_ ," he blurted, when Snape's lips moved briefly over the head of his prick.   
  
"I must commend you," Snape said in a thick voice. Snape's eyes glittered as his tongue came out to lick one long trail from the base of Harry's cock all the way to the tip, and Harry held his breath, gripping the chair hard. "This is a worthy present, indeed." He placed his hands on Harry's thighs, then, and took Harry's cock completely into his mouth, swallowing it down to the root.   
  
Harry cried out, hips jerking up, unable to help himself. Snape's hands on his thighs held him still. "Fuck, Snape," he gasped. He moaned when Snape pulled back, lips rubbing against sensitive skin.   
  
"Such a beautiful prick," Snape murmured in a ragged voice, licking again along the skin of Harry's shaft, "I knew I'd love the taste of you."   
  
Harry whimpered, nearly undone by Snape's words, by the sight of Snape down on his knees, taking Harry's dick into his mouth again, oh god, Snape's mouth, it was too much. He tried to push at Snape's shoulder as he felt his orgasm approaching. "God, I can't—"   
  
Snape pulled off and took Harry's cock in hand, stroking him evenly. Harry twitched, nearly sobbing as he came, watching as Snape's hand continued pumping, covered with his spunk.   
  
Snape eased off just before it became too much, and pressed his forehead to Harry's knee. Harry realized hazily that Snape's trousers were open, too, and that he was touching himself with, shit, the hand he'd used to jerk Harry off, still wet with Harry's come.   
  
"Wait," Harry spat out, clambering unsteadily to the floor. "I want to…" He curled his fingers around Snape's dick, almost recoiling when they slid easily along the length of it, slick from his own come. Snape's fingers covered his, and Snape began to move his hand along the length of his cock, his movements slow and steady.   
  
Shit, it was so fucking hot. "That looks so good," Harry muttered, pressing his forehead to Snape's shoulder and staring down at their hands working together on Snape's cock. Snape made a low sound in the back of his throat. His cock jerked in Harry's hand, and his fingers tightened, and then he was coming in long pulses as Harry continued to stroke him.   
  
They stayed kneeling on the floor for a few minutes, both catching their breath, until Harry straightened, lifting his head from Snape's shoulder. "Happy birthday," he said.   
  
///  
  
After a while, Snape somehow managed to recover his wand and used it to clean them—and their clothing—off. Harry pulled his underwear and trousers up from around his ankles and attempted to stand up. It was clearly a big mistake, because his knees were still weak, and he stumbled back down again.   
  
Snape caught him, just barely, grunting from the effort. Harry hung onto him for a moment longer than was necessary. "That was great," he told Snape, smiling quite unapologetically.   
  
Snape smirked, looking more relaxed and pleased than Harry had ever seen him. "It was—certainly refreshing," he allowed.   
  
Harry made a face at him and moved to get up. His knees were killing him. He offered Snape a hand to help him up, which Snape took.   
  
"I think I'll have that tea you offered."   
  
"You know," Harry said slowly as he put on the kettle and rummaged in the cupboards for the tea packets, "that this wasn't just about the sex, right?" When Snape didn't answer straight away, he turned to face him, one eyebrow raised.   
  
Snape was very studiously examining his wand and refusing to look up at Harry. "What else could there be," he said roughly. "Surely—" He stopped abruptly, seeming to reconsider what he was about to say.   
  
Harry found mugs and readied the tea, waiting to see if Snape would continue, but Snape didn't seem to have anything else to say. He pulled up a chair and sat across from Snape, sighing. "Surely," Harry said in a flat voice, deliberately using Snape's choice of words, "you're not so oblivious that you haven't realized I'm completely mad about you."  
  
Now Snape glared at his wand, which he balanced between middle and forefinger. "You are  _mad_ , in any case."   
  
Harry smiled, getting up to take the boiling kettle off the stove. "I guess I am."   
  
  
///  
  
James and Albus stood on the chairs opposite Snape, watching with huge eyes as Snape slipped something into place and the gold mechanical frog blinked, then croaked, and attempted to hop away. Al clapped his hands together and gave a shout of delight.   
  
Snape set down his tools, appearing decidedly pleased with himself. He tapped the wires holding the frog in place with his wand, turning them to dust. Holding the frog with one hand, he offered it to Al.   
  
Al's face lit up. He grabbed the frog with both of his hands and clutched it to his chest, beaming happily. James asked him something Harry couldn't quite make out, and Al nodded, and they both hopped off the chairs together and crawled into the tent Snape had transfigured for them that morning.   
  
"What are you watching?" Ginny's voice whispered from behind him.   
  
Harry jumped. Everyone else had gone home for the day, and he hadn't expected Ginny to come for another hour. "Ginny," he said, turning around and giving her a hug. "I was—"  
  
"Watching Snape and the kids?" she asked knowingly. She chuckled when Harry looked stunned. "Oh, Harry," she smiled warmly. "I'm happy for you."   
  
Harry blinked. "Um," he said, face growing red.   
  
"If you must blame someone," she said, sotto voce, "Marcus was the one who blabbed."   
  
Harry closed his eyes briefly, then took her by the arm and led her away from the partition, behind one of the shelves. "You're okay with it? It's not...weird for you?"   
  
"It's weird," Ginny admitted. "It's  _Snape_. But he's someone who's been important to you ever since the war, so I suppose I can understand, even if it's strange. As long as you're happy."   
  
"I am. He's—he's important, yeah."   
  
She patted his arm, grinning at him. "Now, do you think we can get the kids ready to leave in ten minutes? Thomas' parents have flown in to have dinner tonight, and they really want to meet them."   
  
Harry nodded. "I'll go get their bags."   
  
///  
  
"Bill and Fleur invited me out to Cornwall for Beltane next month," Harry told Snape, a few weeks after his conversation with Ginny. They were lying in Harry's bed, after a satisfying round of sex. Snape was most susceptible to persuasion after sex.   
  
"Hmph," Snape grunted. "And how does this concern me?"   
  
Harry traced the veins on Snape's wrist with his fingers. "They said I could bring a guest." He added a hopeful note to the end of his statement. He shifted in Snape's arm when he got no reply. "I want to bring you."   
  
"Is that wise?"   
  
Harry sighed. "Do you know you have the most annoying habit of answering everything with a question? And no, I don't know if it's a good idea. I don't know how they'll all react. But they're my family, and you're my..."  
  
"Your…?" Snape asked, amused.   
  
"Someone important," Harry said, repeating the same word he'd used with Ginny, because it was true. Snape was as important as the Weasleys, as Ron and Hermione, or James and Albus.   
  
"I'm honored." Snape said it in a mocking voice, but he tempered it by reaching up and stroking Harry's hair between his fingers. "I'll go. If you insist."   
  
"I think I will insist. Thank you."  
  
"And Potter?"   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
He had to wait a while before Snape said anything, and when he did his voice was gruff, almost grudging. "You are also my— _someone_."   
  
Harry smiled wide and pressed his face to Snape's neck, breathing in the scent of him. "Stay a while," he told Snape, throwing an arm across Snape's chest.   
  
"Demanding brat," he thought he heard Snape say, but Snape remained where he was, and Harry was much too comfortable to come up with a retort. Soon after, he was asleep. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The term "going concern" is a financial term that is use to describe a business that intends to operate indefinitely and is in no danger of liquidation in the near future. In the context of this fic, it refers to both Harry's business and Harry's marriage, and whether or not they can be considered going concerns.
> 
> Comments/kudos much loved and appreciated!


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